Wheeling Gull Isle Don't lose hope

The second half of my post is from Stockholm’s perspective; his player is having internet connectivity issues and asked that I write this on her behalf.

The sheepdog found herself fraught with a certain impatience. She wanted to see to Maegi’s wellbeing, but she knew that protecting the guppy’s sanctuary was the greatest gift she could provide. Alongside her mate, Coelacanth looked particularly innocuous; the Gampr dwarfed his Groenendael in size and stature — but then, so did everyone else at the small gathering. It was the flicker of stubborn distrust in her Neptune eyes that lent her a modicum of strength as she tailed the strangers to the sandbar. With her back to the island and the visitors’ backs to the mainland and the sea, “Who?” she breathed in a featherlight whisper. “Why?” Roseblush tongue danced nervously across her lips as her cerulean gaze pinned down the strangers. They were polite and had bowed willingly enough to the seawolves’ commands, but she remained skeptical.

The Wolfskull had swallowed her once, and she had been savaged and tormented and chewed up by its stalagmite fangs. She would never forget the scent of Blackfeather Woods.

---

Stockholm was mollified by the females’ compliance but refused to let his guard down. Hackles bristled along his spine and through the length of his tail, and his golden eyes were hawkbright as he added to his mate’s list of questions. There was something more at work here — something beyond Maegi’s obvious fear. He knew his mate, and he’d felt the stiffening of her delicate framework. There were stories beyond stories buried beneath her silence, and the very thought of her being hurt by anyone or anything caused his blood to boil. Seelie had taken care of the who and the why, but the Armenian wasn’t satisfied.

“Where are you from, and what happened just before we came?”