Wheeling Gull Isle A monkey's Wedding

The Armenian watches without comment as the female, Elenor, adjusts her stance to meet his approach. He keeps enough distance between them to hopefully assuage some of the unease he assumes she feels, for while his Aralez is light and gentleness incarnate, he tends to cut a more intimidating figure. “It’s easy to do,” he nods toward the stretch of water where the shore tapers off into the sea — but he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t make light of the stranded female’s plight. Not everyone who washes up on Wheeling Gull’s shores wants to stay there indefinitely, and it isn’t in his nature to force a judgment on her.

“If you want, you’re welcome to stay here,” he offers. “Get a few good meals in, take in the scenery.” He tips back his broad muzzle, short-cropped ears folding as he calls out for his mate who, despite her nonverbal nature, would undoubtedly want to make the other female’s acquaintance.