Wheeling Gull Isle making my way downtown

The sheepdog lifted her head to eagerly regard Reed’s approach, her sumi-e brush plume thumping heartily against the denfloor. After Mur was placed back within the shadowed confines, a telltale snoring from the cavernous mouth made her aware of Stockholm’s dozing state and she laughed softly, feathered forelimb adjusting to suit Fern’s wishes. “Reed welcome ever,” she breathed quite plainly, wriggling a little to afford the firebrand Fearghal a better view of Poppy’s legacy. “Small,” she commented, a pitiful conversationalist despite her well-meaning heart, “busy.” She beamed at the dryad’s daughter and added, perhaps a little mischievously,

“You and brother — once small, still busy.”