Wheeling Gull Isle ii. moondust

Undersea — home of the “no talk good” squad.

Coelacanth wasn’t feeling particularly social on the heels of the collie’s rescue. Fighting with the ocean to claim the pack’s newest tauhou had earned her a sore spine and a bellyful of seawater; she’d relieved herself of the latter moments after the fact, but she was still feeling the residual nausea. Rolling in some wild mint had helped, but she still felt muzzy and sluggish.

It was with some dismay, therefore, that her keen ears picked up a sharply barked, “Maegi!” She’d been on her way to Wavewrack Lagoon with the intention of a nice, luxurious saltwater soak, but Moorhen’s alarm could not be ignored. All senses alert, the Aralez moved with a modicum of effort from a stiff walk to a short-strided lope. She was surprised to see the wounded winter raven, and her Neptune eyes went immediately to the woman’s scarred left side. Fearlessly, she pressed forward into the throng, nosing affectionately and lovingly at Moorhen first and foremost. “Hello, lamb,” she whuffed, sniffing her over to make sure everything was all right with the banded girl.

It was then that she caught sight of the girl on the ground and was immediately thrown into action. Instinctively she felt the fish would be a daunting task for one so weak. “Good Moorhen,” she praised in a barely audible whisper, then settled beside the wounded girl and the fish. With her teeth, she scored the flesh and tore away a few easily digestible slivers, nosing them nearer to the girl’s lips. Then, a little uncertainly, she began to stimulate the girl to wake with long sweeps of her tongue over the fine, pale ears. “Morning now,” she insisted clumsily, nosing at her nape.