Wheeling Gull Isle four in the morning

Stockholm nods. “Always here,” he echoes, a low rumble of affirmation and assurance disappearing into the indelible ink of his Aralez’s feathery pelage. Close-cropped ears are carefully canted toward Seelie, and when she indicates at last that she is ready to put her grief to bed, he and Moorhen begin moving in tandem into a small hollow tucked in Skybowl’s shadow.

They keep the Groenendael sandwiched between them as they curl together for the night and fall asleep at last. The Armenian is the last to fall asleep, and it’s uncertain whether he actually allows himself to surrender fully. He is driven by a deep desire to watch and protect, whatever the cost, and keeps his blocky head pillowed on his mate’s withers.