Wheeling Gull Isle promise of a brave new world

It was immeasurably hard for Coelacanth to leave her puppies, but she believed she had no other alternative. She would not bring them anywhere near the place she referred to as the Darkenwood — but neither would she abandon Maegi to seek her fate alone. This was Seelie’s Gethsemane, and she marveled at the strength and sorrow, indelibly intertwined, that tethered `Io to the island. To be driven from her home and from her babies! — Seelie had felt the raven’s heartbreak before, but despite her empathic nature, she hadn’t been able to truly appreciate `Io’s struggle until now.

In truth, Coelacanth harbored a jealous, greedy desire that no other female should care extensively for her puppies in her stead, and that her children should not come to replace her with a better alternative in her absence — but Stockholm had reassured her with relentless steadfastness that a. he would never let that happen, b. it wouldn’t happen anyway, and c. did he mention he would never let that happen?

Nevertheless, Seelie’s heart was heavy as she kissed her husband and left the Four, all round-bellied and warm and drowsing after a vigorous morning swimming lesson and a hearty meal, in the shadow of Skybowl. She padded in abject, dejected fashion to the Strand, but by the time she reached the sandbar she had constructed a veneer of calm that she tossed across her thin shoulders like a cloak. She did not speak, but she had not spoken much at all since the fires from Elsewhere had sent such thick, acrid air to Undersea. A low, soft whuff served as her greeting, as her feathered tail swept feebly from hock to hock like a slow-set metronome.