Wheeling Gull Isle amongst the whales and the waves

Nine days without Amoxtli, and Coelacanth had already lost weight she could ill afford. Entrusting the safety and wellbeing of her packmates to the other members of the Council, she had allowed herself to fade into the background during her period of grieving, but enough was enough. She and Faeryn still owed Constantine a visit; Hemlock and her children still needed support, both corporeal and incorporeal; Stockholm, Komodo, and Moorhen were still here, with her. The world still turned, and honestly, Seelie still wanted it to turn. What would her beloved twin, the other half of her soul, think if he saw how stagnant she had become? What would their papa think?

This time when the sun rose, Coelacanth rose with it.

Tenderly she bathed the face of her mate, feeling something strange and electric at the contact — but she deigned to let him sleep, striking out for the Strand with purpose in her stride. What she lacked in enthusiasm, she more than made up for in dedication, and although her eyes were sad, a genuine smile flitted across her delicate features at the sight of the Earthstalker and her lamb on the beach. Moorhen was a beautiful young wolf, the bold markings on her ribs a striking throwback to the first Leviathan of Blackrock Depths, and as water-loving and fierce as her bloodline decreed. Though Coelacanth worried about how the occasionally prickly angakkuq might react to the Cairn’s characteristic forwardness, she made no sign of it; her gentle visage was the very picture of serenity as she drew nearer to observe but not quite near enough to intrude.