Wheeling Gull Isle we float before the sea at dusk

though her hands are full with mou's recovery, reed keeps an eye on the little ones -- aralez's, yes, and the children of the island, who are growing in leaps and bounds. a small mean (meaner than the usual) part of her is jealous of them in a way -- reed and droman were the island's children once, but they were ripped from it's shores for a brief interlude. even if the memories of her time on the mainland have mostly faded into snatches of sensation (older sibling's fur, mama's milk, arturo's teeth) she cannot wholly claim her childhood for it. 

but this is a silly thing, an adolescent bitterness that holds no real sway on her opinions of them. and when she spots the small body out and about by the den, she picks up her pace, in time to watch her dear sweet fern jolt back from a crab's claw. 

the nerve of the crustacean! the titian fearghal is quick to close the distance, winding her body around fern's -- the crab's escape is too hasty for reed to pursue, although it would be satisfying to slay the creature that dare hurt her dear. "this is why we don't play with crabs," she scolds instead, leaning to gently examine the small red line that's formed across her perfect little nose.