Wheeling Gull Isle mashallah

The gods had been kind to Komodo as of recent. Yes, life was simply splendid at this juncture of time and place! His vixen was utterly besotted with him, and he with her; he had made his peace with Coelacanth, one that was nearly 6 months in the making; the island was happy and healthy, and the titans of earth, wind, fire and water were quiet and complacent. His body felt strong and healthy while his ceremonies became more effective. Komodo was so deep inside of Perfectenschlag right then.

A call from the beaches nearest to the strand drew him forth, though he was not far away to begin with. The man often busied himself with roving the borders of the island and marking a tree here and there, never once forgetting Axolotl’s keen advice to avoid having his scent washed out with the tide. The spit of land, being the island that it was, had the most definable [and defendable] borders he had ever seen. There was only one entrance in and one exit out — the fact that the seawolves did not have a guardian consistently posted at the strand was a great act of trust towards all the wolves of the coast… but such was the zeitgeist of Seelie’s merry band of salty dogs.

The stranger was on their land, but Komodo did not make a fuss. The brute strode cooly forward, speaking in something between a bark and a drawl. “Yer in Undersea territory,” he noted and halted facing the man. “What kin ah’ do yah fer?” Hopefully this caller did not mean to disturb the peace he had so carefully brokered with the gods.