Wheeling Gull Isle ultramarine

"Well, that's what I'll call them, too," she muttered sourly, resisting the urge to suck on her paw like a child. "It's a good name for them." She peered in slight curiosity at Rokig, head tilted. "Creepy trees? That sounds a lot like my home. How'd you end up here?"

Now, the fish, she liked looking at. Unlike the pinchers, they weren't a foreign concept to her; there were fish in Otter Creek, after all. But these were different, bigger and some were more colorful, and the water tasted different, too. She didn't want to drink it--it tasted bitter, salty. Not like the cool refreshing streams back home.

She supposed there were pros and cons to everywhere, but in the mental checklist she kept, the mainland was considerably winning out. Not to say she wasn't grateful, for everyone taking her in and feeding her thus far--but it didn't erase the homesickness. Nothing could.