Wheeling Gull Isle kiss me like that

It was a sleepy little fish that took up the rear of the Volkodav-Corten Caravan. Koi wasn’t feeling poorly per se, but she felt grey and forlorn — quieter than quiet. When the train stopped, she took to the water like the guppy she was, flopping bonelessly upon the mossy embankment with her belly and hips submerged, watching the milieu with plaintive cerulean eyes. A flicker of interest stirred within their depths when Coelacanth cast a silver-scaled fish over one slender shoulder, but she made no move to join her brothers in trying to subdue the trout, or to join Thresher in watching the river’s surface. Only at the arrival of not one, but two unfamiliar wolves did the pearl rouse herself, river water streaming from the feathers at her undercarriage, legs, and tail. She cocked her head from one side to the other, her fur fluffing out as she boofed uncertainly at them.