Wheeling Gull Isle bismil

Coelacanth and Hemlock had devoted the day to tending the western garden. The added responsibility of corralling six puppies made the task a delicate one, but Seelie wouldn’t have it any other way — and eight pairs of eyes watched raptly as a bore tide rolled past Morningside Moor, a cowlick of brackish water spilling over the marshland. “That was a big one,” the Kali woman chuckled warmly, explaining the phenomenon to Mur, Fern, Grayling, Thresher, Sixgill, and Koi. She was still in the middle of her explanation when Aditya’s call struck the air. By this time, the puppies had grown accustomed to their parents’ duties as Aralez and Overseer, and there were few protests. In fact, it was Seelie who needed the most encouragement to get off her fluffy butt and do her damn job — she would rather have spent time with the babies! — but she eventually whipped around, sprinting along the Strand at breakneck speed.

Unlike her stalwart protectors, the sheepdog lacked an innate sense of, “Hey, something weird is going on.” Off-island, she was as wary as any wolf, but there was no reason for her to suspect that anything bad would happen here. Here was a sanctuary of safety, peace, and healing. Here was home. She bounced into view with nothing but dumb dog affection in her eyes, glancing from Stockholm to Aditya and back again, aware of `Io’s presence but not drawing attention to the shadow-wrapped raven. It took a moment for her to recognize that she had intruded upon a conversation of sorts, and her body language quieted and grew demure out of respect. Her expression, too, smoothed into a waiting stillness; but her eyes were alive with seasparkle and an oblivious sort of joy that they were all here, together, in peace.