Wheeling Gull Isle picks himself up and keeps climbing for the prize again

A sudden record-scratch stop that took Driftwood by surprise: he lurched to a halt half a step beyond where Mou did, planted his sandy-furred feet wide and turned to look back at his packmate with wide-eyed surprise and complete befuddlement. Driftwood couldn't for the life of him imagine they could have been going too fast; the slow and limping progress they had made as they tottered their way to the beach might have been a marathon of epic proportions for a baby mouse, but only just, and certainly nothing larger, and that alone had taken them several minutes. Driftwood's eyes raked up and down the form of the other with alarm and concern, and then softened sympathetically as they met the single pleading eye of the other male.

It's all right, he said coaxingly, his soft voice pitched to overcome the soft swoosh of the waves, unlike Mou's own. It won't hurt you. I promise. Driftwood took a moment to make sure Mou was adequately propped up as he moved his browner form a short distance away. Driftwood patted and stomped at the sand in demonstration, wagging his tail high and wide. See? Beach time was fun time! No time to be scared! Driftwood glanced back at Mou with a small but encouraging smile before taking another several strides to go and stand where the lapping waves could tickle his toes. Driftwood turned to face Mou with a wide, confident grin and a proud lift of the chin. See? The water was great! Drift trotted back to Mou with swift confidence, carefully maneuvering his body to try and prompt Mou's upward and onward once again. His voice began to grow brighter and louder as he continued with increasingly jocular assurance. You'll like it! And I'll be right here beside you, making sure you're safe. Okay?

He didn't wait for an answer, not really—could one really even expect one from poor Mou, anyhow? It undoubtedly stunk to lose one's voice almost entirely, but Driftwood was bound and determined that that little stumbling block wasn't going to keep Mou from playing in the island's beautiful waters, not even a little. He perked his ears at his fellow wolf, the kinked tip of the right drooping down as if to point commandingly at Mou: up to you now, move those feet. Driftwood nudged his dark noseleather at Mou, a motion sympathetic and coaxing both.