Wheeling Gull Isle i’m not superstitious, but i’m a little stitious

The sheepdog shook her head mutely at Maegi’s apology, luminous Neptune eyes shimmering with an otherworldly sorrow at what the young girl had suffered. “Peace be,” she breathed again, though her heart lurched painfully at Maegi’s forlorn whisper: “I want to go home.” When was her island going to be good enough to be considered a truehome for the wolves she loved? It seemed Undersea was destined to be a safe harbor — but a place others inevitably departed from. Her pessimistic faith in this would be solidified in the months to come, though she did not know it now. “Blackfeather, I know,” she whispered haltingly. “W-W-Wolfskull — ” it wracked her heart, even now! “ — I know.” How a creature as soft and gentle as Maegi had come from such a place, she couldn’t fathom, but she knew one thing: “‘Reminded me,’ I know.” Hazarding an assumption that the girl with the mismatched eyes would not flee, the atramentous Aralez inched closer.

Tapered muzzle outstretched, and if Maegi showed no revulsion, Seelie’s lips would brush and then nibble against one pale shoulder. “When you are ready,” she whispered, parceling out each word with a considerable amount of effort, both physical and emotional, “with Stockholm, Moorhen, `Io, me — safe guide home.” She did not want Yakone in the vicinity of the darkenwood and would enforce her dominance if `Io tried to defy her on that point, but she thought perhaps the winter raven would trust the Earthstalker to keep her daughter safe on the island.

“Maegi, take time,” she gently encouraged the grimacing ghost. “Will better.” A spasmodic shudder danced its way down her spine as the specters from her own past gathered in close.