Wheeling Gull Isle bismil

It was in this spectacularly traumatizing way that Coelacanth mistakenly came to believe that Dawn had perished. The notion that the gunmetal girl was alive and well (as well as one could be this soon after her beloved father's passing) never crossed the sheepdog’s mind. Only death itself, irrevocable and unforgiving, could explain Aditya — a bastion of warmth and light, a friend she loved dearly — turning into into the stuff of nightmares before her very eyes. Dawn had died, and Aditya was grieving, and seadeeps, she wanted to comfort him! — but he was frightening her (hurting her!) with the tormented roar of his body and the anguished screaming of his soul. Stockholm, clearly confused and understandably disconcerted, managed to maintain a semblance of calm — something that Seelie was immeasurably grateful for, even if she was a Bad Dog who did not deserve such mercy.

“You’re my home, Seelie — ”

I am not. I am your kinswoman —

When Aditya leapt, the burning coattails of a vitriolic snarl whistling between his bared teeth, so did Seelie. Her small stature and overall lack of combat experience would count against her, but her top speed was tachyonic, and there were few things that motivated her more than protecting her flock (giant fluffy Gamprs included). Dark lips peeled back to display with reckless abandon every tooth in her mouth. She did not go for the throat but merely tried to pit her snapping jaws against the threat her once-beloved posed. She choked out a raspy, kittenish growl as she sought to wedge herself between the Gampr and the wolf; the sound would have been a full-throated warcry in a dog with a functioning larynx. As her mouth pooled with the salt-and-iron taste of blood, she thought brokenly:

My children would have called you uncle or cousin or brother. Oh, Adi. What have you done?