Wheeling Gull Isle I need vitamin SEA

These were lazy days for Komodo. He hunted the small, island fare and he studied his scriptures, and he chatted with his packmates here and there. He was alone for most of the time, and not entirely upset about it — he was able to go about his days as he wished, and fill his hours with the activities of his choosing,  to eat when he wants and snooze when he wants. He was doing just this — catching and devouring a wayward seagull, and then falling promptly asleep — when the call from the borders was loosed, but he did not rouse. Surely, someone else would take care of this. 

But, he reminded himself, he was a man with responsibilities. He was Vedmak now, and this was his job. So, he got up and hauled his ass to the beach where the sandbar was affixed. The angakkuq trotted towards the visiting duo, calling out with his tenor far before he reached them. “Aye, forgive m’delay,” he said, apologizing but not offering an explanation. He sped up to a trot, rounding them and turning towards the sea, coming to face the scouting femmes.  “Ah'm Komodo, of Undersea. he said with a respectful sweep of the head. “An’ yew two are… Lost?” he probed and cocked a coffee cream brow, eyes lighted with the joke. It was not likely that they had crossed the channel, or crossed the sandbar, without completely intending to do just that. Wolves did not often come to their small island dwelling by happenstance.  It was not impossible; just not likely — after all, almost all the wolves had been lost souls, brought together by some larger force, the likes of which did not answer to them. That, however, didn't seem to happen much anymore.