Wheeling Gull Isle I pray for the wicked on the weekend

Coelacanth was often accompanied by @Stockholm and @Moorhen these days. Despite a few initial blunders, she had become aware of the banded female’s dependence on her and did her best to stay on the island as much as possible. This morning she rose and went in search of Faeryn and Hemlock, eager to celebrate the pack’s revival — but she did not move with any real sense of urgency. She was simply content and wished to develop a stronger relationship with her packmates. A soft whisper-whine of invitation was given to her coffee stout lamb as she followed the fresh scents of Faeryn, Hemlock, Droman, and Reed — it was unclear to her from scent alone whether Droman was with his mother or if the viridian-eyed dryad had simply passed through recently.

A few paces more and the story became clear: Droman, the rogue scientist, had wandered off on his own and was making polite conversation with the Akhlut. Coelacanth boofed softly to make her own presence known, then stretched out like a tuft-eared sphinx, inching forward on her belly to greet her packmates. For Seelie, being a member of the Council didn’t really affect her general interactions with others; she was not a particularly dominant creature and was not likely to become one with age or time. “What are you two up to?” bespoke the shy, inquisitive tilt of her head.