Wheeling Gull Isle Four and twenty blackbirds

One of the sheepdog’s tufted ears cupped toward Reed automatically. She was sprawled on her side, the slow, even rise and fall of her concave flank indicating that she was fast asleep — but she roused enough to offer a few lazy thumps of her tail and a sleepy smile before drifting off again. Stockholm, on the other hand, was very much awake and happy to see Hemlock’s daughter: “Good morning, Reed,” he rumbled warmly, casting a look of fond reassurance to his pale daughter. “Look, Thresher. Do you remember Reed from the Mitexi? Want to go see what’s she got there?”

From between a multicolored knot of sweetly scented fuzz — white and gold entwined with charcoal and silver — emerged a puppy whose ears were still folded over. Owed to her domesticated phenotype, her ears wouldn’t match her siblings’ for at least another week, if not longer — but this didn’t seem to impede her hearing. In fact, at the sound of Reed’s voice, the blue-black pearl had immediately stirred and begun her sojourn, only to stop short at the sound of Stockholm’s gentle rumble. A delighted chirp trilled within the column of her throat as she sought to lap eagerly at his chin and mouth, but she was a baby and easily distracted — a piping, melodic coo hummed from her smiling mouth (“Sister!”) as she nuzzled Thresher’s cheek.

If Thresher needed reassurance, Koi was here to provide it!