Wheeling Gull Isle below her mouth

She was not as stealthy as she might believe. Her arrival was made known by the delicate stirring of the crystalline waters at her hocks, turning back on itself and pooling and making noises that were audible only to those who chose to hear it. The winds shifted, as they always did when Coelacanth stepped onto the scene, and with it carried her scent — sweet and warm and briny, as it always had been. Komodo also just had a sense about these things, and he had felt that he might encounter the inky aralez alone one of these days. 

The earthstalker  wasn’t entirely sure what had taken so long. He was open to the possibility of moving on and restoring their relationship to its former glory, if such a thing could ever be achieved again — wasn’t she? Now there were children to consider, and not simply his hungry whims and what Komodo still very much believed to be her reluctance to admit the truth — but it’s totally cool. Totally fine. Komodo was a man committed, now, and Coelacanth a mother. Their entire dynamic changed, and stripped of the sexual tension that once it had been rife with. They were lucky for it, and after an absence of several months, he was eager to move on. 

Though Komodo lingered in his trance for a moment longer, he eventually turned towards the little sheepdog and strode forward a step or two, putting distance between him and the crashing of the waves. He dared not speak, and instead bowed his significant head, neck, breast and shoulders in a formality that did not need to be voiced. He would leave it at that, and let the girl test the waters of moving forward — and perhaps speaking — upon level ground.