Wheeling Gull Isle i don't need another friend, i already have two

My son!

The urchin who scuttled across the drawbridge to Coelacanth’s citadel was not, at first glance, a particularly impressive specimen. She lifted her fox-fine muzzle from her delicate paws and watched him as he drew near, emerging only when he stopped several meters away from the island and barked. His voice was curiously flat to her keen ears, and she imagined if she hadn’t been there to watch the splitting of his muzzle, the crack of sound might have resembled a choked cry for aid. This was, of course, projection on Seelie’s part — she was forever looking for orphans and strays to tend, and this inclination had become increasingly prominent since the Hunter’s Moon. She couldn’t have known that her maternal urges were also intensified due to the pupcakes slowly simmering away in her Easy Bake Oven, for she wasn’t showing and her scent had not yet changed.

As she drew nearer, she found there was something familiar about the male’s pewter-and-ash palette — but Isengrim and Julep had been puppies the last time she’d seen them, and she had long since written off her inability to provide for Doe and Szymon’s children as her second-greatest failure. The greatest failure, of course, was being unable to keep Doe safe. Doe, come back.

Oh, Poppy!

Remembering the Border Collie made Coelacanth all the more determined to make this interaction a good one for the sorrowful looking spectre. She trotted forward without hesitation, stopping when she stood about a meter away from the strange wolf — and when she met his gaze, something in her heart twisted painfully and then stilled. She knew that shade of yellow — not Aditya’s burnished firelight, and not Stockholm’s molten citrine; not Niamh’s warm honey, and not Driftwood’s glittering tawny. It was a tincture that could only be referred to as yellow. Yellow like the lonely moon or the sour peel of a lemon. Yellow like Szymon, and yellow like Doe.

Cocking her head this way and that like a curious bird, her oversized ears piqued alertly atop her crown, she peered at the wolf, and still the eerie glint of his gaze did not reveal himself to her — it just looked familiar. It just resembled the ghosts of her past. Neptune eyes danced over his skeletal, wraithlike frame with gentle worry, and she whuffed at him softly in inquiry.

How could she help him? What did he seek?