Wheeling Gull Isle the colours seem bright in the sky

Driftwood's own paw caught and tore a little on one daggerlike protrusion as he went flying across the treacherous rocks, but although it left a bloody trail of his own behind him and caused him to skid a little more instead of halting where he'd intended, Driftwood paid the scratch no mind. An open-mouthed snarl of fury billowed from his throat as he bared his teeth and lunged after the eagle. No one was going to hurt this pup on his watch! Except the pup herself, it seemed; another stab of fear lanced through him as his nose caught the scent of her blood as well. It wasn't a great day for anyone who had hoped to escape it unscathed, really.

Close, but no cigar: the eagle screamed back at the larger wolf that had cheated it of its meal before it rocketed off once more. Despite the way his forepaws launched themselves up into the air along with his flashing teeth, Driftwood didn't catch so much as a feather, himself; a lone bit of down fluttered to the rocky ground after the bird, very nearly the only sign that it had ever been there as it disappeared up into the clouds once more. —Good riddance! he roared after it. Growling and abristle, Driftwood lowered himself back over the youngster and her prize, staring up at the sky a minute longer to make sure the feathered fiend wasn't circling back around for another attempt before Driftwood smoothed his layers of brown fur down again and sandy flews back across his pearly whites and poked a concerned nose down beneath his own belly. He gave the small girl a once-over with worried eyes, noting in passing that this was the selfsame one who had glued herself so stubbornly to Stockholm's broad limb the other day. He had heard a noise of some sort from her a moment ago as she dived for cover: had that been pain, or merely fear? Had those wicked talons gotten a piece of her? Driftwood's pounding heart was relieved to see two intact bright button eyes lurking in his shadow, two broad expanses of fluffy ear and one whole black and shining nose. Well, no, not entirely correct: there were four eyes, four ears and two twitchy noses he could see, but for the moment he dismissed the quivering half-curled vole and tried unsuccessfully to count Fern's little limbs from the awkward angle he had his head tucked down at.

Not bad, he said after a moment, when he saw there plainly was at least 95% of a puppy in one piece down there and he could trust himself to speak again. She was starting to whine, and difficult though it was to navigate his own limbs without stepping back from the youngster entirely, Driftwood hobbled his forelegs back a few half-paces and craned his neck to try and offer her a reassuring nuzzle. You got the little squeaker and got away, although you're going to have to bite down a little harder than that if you're planning to eat it. All right? His heart melted as he watched her tenderly licking the small animal for comfort, although he rather mistook the source of motivation. Obviously this little would-be-huntress had gotten a little more than she had bargained for, today! ...Driftwood was just glad that he had managed to get there in the nick of time. And that his focusing on the scared little pup with the plover-colored fur was enough of a distraction to keep his own legs from turning to jelly, now, in the aftermath. Where was that scent of blood coming from, though—not his own, that he dismissed impatiently as his nose alerted him of it again, but the hint he could taste in the air that had escaped from little Fern's veins? He hoped that if he kept the conversation as light and cheery as he could, she'd let him nose her over closer and see where her hurts lay. At least it didn't seem like she was bleeding enough to have lost a limb, even if he fretted just a little still that her little tail and his own body was getting in the way of maneuvering to where he could count all her much-stubbier legs and make certain.