Wheeling Gull Isle let my imagination run away with you gladly

Coelacanth was used to gaping stares, but not for the reason Aditya believed. So much of her personal conlang was expressed through physical signaling and microexpressions that she had simply grown accustomed to being watched — and closely! She was keenly aware of how her body moved, as singers and storytellers might be hyperconscious of their elocution and inflection, and took great pains to “speak” as clearly and precisely as she could. The Âlluasiak nomads had taught her to use dance to tell stories and sing songs, but in a way, she had already known how — they had merely shown her it was possible. Their tutelage had helped her to refine skills made de rigueur by her impediment, particularly pacing and rhythm. They had made her silence beautiful.

She was not surprised to see him watching her, therefore, when she turned from the floral motes of spring and hopped over to him on three legs. Her left forepaw — the one that had been propped against the trunk — was tucked against her undercarriage like the wing of a wounded bird, but her expression held mischief and mirth. A fluttering wave of her tail promised, “I am well!” and then she made the reason for her odd gait plain. Curling her haunches to sit demurely beside him, Coelacanth pressed her soot-covered paw against the Morningsider’s burly shoulder. After a moment, she lifted her paw and peeked critically, but found herself unimpressed by the faintness of the stamp. It would have worked much better on Catori, but Aditya’s burnished bourbon-and-goldleaf pelt defied her literal seel of approval. Not to be deterred, she returned to the trunk and pawed at the blackburned surface for round two. “Ko?” she whispered conversationally as she worked.

Toddling back to Aditya’s side a second time, she pressed her tiny paw against his cheek, the triangle of pale fur that angled back from his striking eye and smiling mouth. “Coal,” she corrected with a self-deprecating dip of her muzzle and a shy little laugh. “Cola-t’ree.” There was an odd little hiccup in the middle of that consonant blend, as there occasionally was when she addressed Stockholm, but she beamed at Aditya as if he had given her a most wonderful gift.

“Adi — name? Giff name?” She wondered if the hunter would be amendable to the idea of his name being used not only by Coelacanth, but by all the seawolves who called the island home. She remembered her manners, tufted ears popping in surprise and then skimming guiltily back as she tacked on a hasty, “Adi, peas?” She slanted a beseeching glimmer of seablue eyes up at him like a child who believes truly that her good behavior will be rewarded if she asks politely…

…even if she did leave a sooty paw print on her hero’s face.