Wheeling Gull Isle neon gravestones try to call for my bones

;-; she will b back one day for sure

The sky was a solemn, slate grey that afternoon, and the wind had picked up just enough to spray the sand and whip the surface of the shore's waves onto the banks. Faeryn's pelt, too, was ruffled by the embrace of cold, glittering eyes squinting as her paws left prints in her wake. The task of today had left a solid stone in her stomach, and a sour taste in her mouth when she had stumbled to her feet early that morning - she was dreading this conversation. The nymph had long avoided it, for she knew deep in her heart that this truly was the first place she had ever felt as though she belonged, and the wolves of undersea were her only family. 

She'd been having countless nightmares over the last few moons. They came in sudden bursts, where flames filled her vision and licked at her fur, scorching her paws and blinding her eyes - sometimes she could even taste the smoke on her tongue, or hear the howls and cries fill the night. Her head shook instinctively, and her paws sped up. Faeryn's muzzle tipped to the sky, and from her lips came a summoning howl for @Coelacanth and @Stockholm, a melodic call laced with hidden uncertainty, and a sorrow she could not quite name.