Wheeling Gull Isle molotov cocktails on me like accessories

Driftwood is not a naturalist or really anymuch help at all here, I don't think, but perhaps someone a little wiser can also come along and help set him straight...?  ;)  lol.

Driftwood was quite pleased with himself this day, and in fact waved his dark-tipped tail high and wide as his mind jumped ahead and dwelt on just how thrilled Seelie would be with him, too, he expected. (Her broader-set mate he was not so certain about his likely approbriation from, but he couldn't be too upset with Driftwood for adding to the island's food stores, right?) In his mouth he carried a sleek smug rat who had thought she could outmaneuver him and been proven wrong. In his mind he carried, too, the knowledge that her pink squeaking nestlings had not been far from her, and that he had very carefully not only made his mark nearby in the usual manner but also backscratched an unsually long indicator in the damp sands for a ways in front of it. One of the nice things about this island was that the predators upon it were few and far between, beyond the wolves themselves, but nonetheless Driftwood hastened forth around the bend at a fairly brisk clip. He found himself startled into suddenly stopping as a quiet melody catches his ears at the same time the breeze brings the flavor of an unfamiliar scent to accompany it.

Driftwood cocks his head and listens with one paw upraised before he detours further inland with some apprehension. His tail begins to flutter lower, more of a 9 o'clock position than a 12 now, and his ears flicker halfway back in uncertainty. He would call out a greeting if his mouth wasn't already full, but instead stops short at the slender russet-and-amber rump in front of him. He'd prefer to greet her face instead of her butt, as that seems a more propitious setup for a first meeting, but curiosity gets the better of him before he remembers his manners a little better. Driftwood creeps subconsciously forward as he cranes his neck to see what the slender young stranger is up to, but his bafflement only increases as he notes that she appears to be widening a cozy little den. Driftwood stops again and stares, then clears his throat and, hesitating briefly, drops his rat to the dirt. Oh! Er—ahem! Are you expecting puppies too?! he asks, a little breathless and overeager with excitement at the notion. He had thought for sure that his island home had seen the last of the little ones that were to grace its shores this year, but why else would a young female be so intently hollowing out a home for herself like this?

 But then again, he thinks with abrupt trepidation again as his breath hitches and stops for a moment in surprise just like his stride... then again, why does she seem to be here doing this excavation all alone, if that's the case? ...Has some wicked scoundrel gone and knocked the poor young thing up and then abandoned her here? Driftwood firmly intends to find out, and like as not go find the rascal and drag him back here by the skin of his ears if necessary! That is just no way to treat a lady, he thought with indignation. He'd go to Seelie and Stock and plead her case himself, if necessary, too; he was certain his leaders' soft hearts could find space for this poor abandoned waif if they heard such a tale, though there were already numerous strays, orphans, and needy creatures making demands on the resources of Wheeling Gull, it was true. Well Driftwood would hunt all day and night too to help fix that if needed, he resolved.

Driftwood was a little too caught up in his emotional imaginings to properly take note that this willowy youngster certainly didn't look at all pregnant, or like a new arrival at all for that matter, although perhaps some small sliver of this mistake could perhaps be forgiven on the grounds that he had only thus far seen her from behind, after all.