Wheeling Gull Isle maybe when the coast is clear

Regret and love stabbed at Coelacanth’s tender heart as she gazed forlornly at her lamb; the wound she’d dealt the already insecure girl would not heal easily, and she would have to do her best to give Moorhen something strong and steady to trust in and hold on to in the days to come.

Just as the banded female’s cry sundered the predawn quiet, the Earthstalker arrived on the scene — and something inside Coelacanth quailed even as her posture subtly shifted. Her fox-fine muzzle lifted a little higher; the noodly wriggle of her waving tail slowed to a cordial tick-tock; and the warmth in her Neptune eyes cooled a fraction. The pack’s Vedmak was the one wolf Seelie did not feel up to facing. In many ways, it was Komodo who had driven her from the island in the first place, though she still greedily hoarded all the associated guilt. “Big Ears,” he called her, just the way he used to, and her feathered tail sketched a flurry of delight, involuntary and guileless. Still, she knew that they’d never truly find their way back to such an innocent, untroubled place — they had sheltered in Shangri-La but no wolf could live there. “Modo,” she breathed quietly, tongue curling around a collection of syllables that would reintroduce their company —

— but before she could, “Seelie!” Driftwood yipped, and careened across the sand in a puppyish tumble. She nibbled at the bridge of his muzzle, whuffing a soft greeting, and kept her expression serene as she made eye contact with each wolf present — with the exception of Grayday. “All friends,” she said, though her expression was quizzical and her head tilted curiously as Driftwood regarded Komodo with open confusion. “Morningside family — Grayday, Lavender.” She allowed an exaggerated pause between each offered name in case the group wanted to utter a more personal introduction. “Vedmak, leader, Komodo. Seawolf, Moorhen. T-Tauhou, new wolf, Driftwood. All friends,” she summed up, enunciating these two words with emphasis.

“Driftwood, Modo, h-help?” she whispered, meeting Komodo’s gaze with some reluctance. They were going to have to talk, but now was not the time or place. Her throat was already beginning to ache with the strain of pitching her whispers to carry over the roll of the sea. “Water, food, rrrest.” She gestured with her muzzle toward the small, mottled girl and her silver-furred father, then circled around to Grayday’s side with a soft whuff to clue him in to her approach. “Safe,” she promised him, nosing at the underside of his chin. She needed to address things with Moorhen first and foremost, but she didn’t want her Morningside family to feel slighted.