Wheeling Gull Isle you were beautiful

@The Body ♥

Sometimes, even though she tried hard to remain professional about the whole thing, Coelacanth found herself overwhelmed with sorrow at the cruel fate that had befallen her friend. She emerged from Rainsong Labyrinth just after midnight, leaving Stockholm and Moorhen in charge of the puppies, and stole away to Titmouse’s haven of convalescence. She thought perhaps he could bear her touch, given the excellent care he was receiving from the pack’s healers, and tucked herself with infinite gentleness along his back. Her shorter spine and smaller body allowed her to avoid his gravely wounded hindquarters. “Mou,” she breathed in a choking whisper, and bathed his crown in kisses, heedless of her own safety. The throat wound was healing well, all things considered, but his body was so broken — and his mind! Did he ever sleep? His remaining eye never seemed to close; it was open and roving even now, and that, for whatever reason, was the catalyst that shattered Seelie’s composure. She wept openly — and he could raise no judgments against her.

The salt of her tears was lost in the soft fur at his nape, and she didn’t know if he could hear the quavering of her breath, but she thought certainly he would feel the uneven hitching of her ribcage — and she was ashamed. “Mou,” she hiccupped, believing she could have saved him. If only he had come home with her! There had been several opportunities, and though he had declined every offered invitation, maybe she could’ve been more forceful about it — maybe she could’ve been more alluring — maybe, maybe! — but now it was too late for maybes and should-haves.

She couldn’t even talk to him — not with the same ease and fluency the others knew. “Puppies, Mou,” she whispered to him, laving the soft fur between his ears. “Four. Small. I wish…you meet,” she sniffled, “soon. Maybe too hurt, now.” She traced his ear with her nose.