Wheeling Gull Isle Cordelia

Driftwood was watching her not-quite-directly—with a full-frontal stare being a rude and assertive gesture among wolves as often as not, given the obviously easily-wilting violet here he didn't want to put too much pressure on her. He kept his nose slightly slantwise, and his eyes the same as he observed her obliquely, and kept his own enthusiastic reactions on a tight rein all the while so that when he caught the little flash of hopeful enthusiasm that went flickering across her face he didn't jump for joy or even stir his tail more than briefly, though his already-upcurving-once-more lips' smile couldn't help but grow a little wider yet. Good. She was interested in his little plot and if he knew pups at all already mentally preparing herself for a bit of an adventure. (And it hadn't been that long ago that he'd been a youngster himself after all, had it...? Oh gosh, he didn't even want to try and think about that one too hard: he felt so old, especially compared to this small shy puffball!)

She still didn't have much to say though. Of course not: that would make his job a little too easy, now wouldn't it. Yes... treasure, he said again, in almost-reverent tones. Though maybe it was time to change tactics slightly. There are two more, rather small seashells over near where I found this one. Do you think they're still there, or will the crabs have gotten them? Perhaps we'd better go check! Driftwood pursed his lips a little as he turned his head and scanned the beach. Locating the specks of shells upon the mostly-otherwise-blank sands, their darker silhouettes standing out readily against the sea-smoothed beach's face, he glanced sidewise back at little Thresher and gave a small indicatory nod in their direction. We'd better go guard them while we figure out where to best look next, hadn't we? Driftwood eased himself up and exaggeratedly stretched his long limbs for a moment, perhaps as if he expected to need to be all limbered up for tiny battles with crabs over his beach treasures in the span ahead. Truth be told, if Driftwood had actually thought there was any real chance that crustaceans were going to challenge him for ownership of the seashells whatsoever, he'd probably have caved in immediately and let the pinchy little creatures have as many shells as they darned well pleased... but his beachcombing today had shown him long stretches of lifeless sands, with few signs a single crab had ever even set foot upon the shore, much less any of them actually actively scuttling about.

Keeping half a weather eye on little Thresher to make sure she was staying engaged with his offer and starting to move herself along as his own feet began to at a quite leisurely pace take somewhat dainty, slow, and short strides (without trying to seem too much like he was obviously keeping things slow and easy so that Thresher could easily catch him up and even pass him if she so wished), he mused aloud seemingly as much to himself as to her: Now what color and size and shape of seashell do you think your mother might most like? Or your father, for that matter... do you think he likes shells too? In all honesty Drift found the big stoic Gampr to be fairly intimidating still on some level, and couldn't for the life of him have ever imagined him liking something so decorative and delicate as seashells. Couldn't even imagine asking him if he liked them. But mostly he was just trying to make quiet and unthreatening conversation about some of the wolves Thresher must know and love best in order to draw her out and make her feel more comfortable, all while keeping the direct spotlight off of her—for Driftwood feared that if he approached her own self too directly the little creature might shut down entirely. The bright harshness of a direct spotlight would not be best suited for everyone: some people might prefer to wait in the shadowy wings before creeping out onto the stage, and there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, there was something almost admirably self-effacing about it... assuming it didn't lead to the loud prima donnas getting all the love and attention. But Driftwood could even less easily imagine Coelacanth ever letting such a fate as to be overlooked to ever fall upon one of her own precious... treasured children, as to be overlooked or unloved in favor of the flashier and more loudmouthed creatures which insistently tried to demand her attention left and right.

... Treasure. Treasure— oh, right, Treasure! Driftwood was left marveling at his own blockheaded stupidity; had he had a heel of a hand with which to do so he'd have smacked himself in the forehead. Duh— DUH. You've heard Seelie directly call little Thresher Treasure before, now haven't you, Drift? Pay attention! Driftwood was a little overly distracted and preoccupied by his own forgetfulness, such that he didn't see the uneven rivulet carved into the ground right in front of him, nor did he realize the lovely, tiny yet seemingly perfect spiral shell he'd just spotted off to their right might have already been claimed by another. The first he tripped on, yet recovered from with relative quickness and ease—though he looked down and over to try and make sure Thresher's strong but rather stubby legs didn't encounter overmuch trouble with the small curvetting ditch of an obstacle. The second he approached with increasing speed and foolhardy eagerness—in part because, well, Driftwood didn't know that hermit crabs were really a thing. All the crabs he'd seen thus far had had their own personal hardened carapaces and no need of such additional shelter. And they hadn't had crabs of any sort back home where he'd come from, so far as he could remember anyhow. Nonetheless he might have had a bit of warning from the tiny poke-legged pattern of tracks leading up to the little peaked seashell, if he'd been paying sufficient attention. As it was he was rather like a child reaching out to take hold of the red-hot boiling pot as he stretched out his nose in its direction while saying brightly, Hey, Thresh— uh, Treasure, little treasure-hunter! Look over here— what's this?! Do you think Seelie might like this? Poor, foolish Driftwood, with no idea whatsoever of what a spot of trouble he might be about to get himself into.