Wheeling Gull Isle just like you, like me, like everybody else

Nnnoooo, KJ, don't throw puppies, you meanie!  ;)  Homfg but that avatar is ADORABLE though...and that teenage tervuren too?! I don't think I've ever seen one that color and/or at that stage...d'aaawww! All the goofy teenage dog love. ^^
I mean, not that Blossom's terrible-looking or anything...y'just can't compete with puppies, sorry dude.  XD
Also this post probably makes it painfully obvious I'm struggling to get back into the NaWoWriMo swing of things...sorry guys if it's too terrible a read! That's what skimming was invented for, though, I suppose?  X)  May get around to editing this into better coherence later but with the way things've been going ugh, probably not.

Driftwood's soft buckskin paws jittered uneasily along the beach. Never a very self-contained wolf at the best of times, he was downright paranoid a lot of the time these days, ever since he had missed the whole showdown that had gone down with the pack's leadership not all that long ago. 'Course, it also didn't help that he dozed only fitfully throughout the day anymore, nervously on the alert for another ill-intentioned wolf invading their shores or some other similar disaster. (Like maybe a small army of crabs coming for him. Or a horse. Driftwood suppressed a shudder.) Sleep deprivation had never been known to make anyone more stable, or less prone to hallucinating conniving canine invaders and murderous ponies lurking around every tree and under every rock. Driftwood had it under control...mostly...but his feet didn't quite go in a straight line so confidently as they had before. His little safe haven of an island had been breached, after all, and while he was diligently trying to do a better job of consistently making sure its shores were patrolled, he couldn't help but have this niggling little kernel of self-doubt deep within. After all, if the ever-intimidating and impressive, hulking and spike-necked Gampr Stockholm hadn't been able to prevent an assailant from getting to Seelie, what chance did the much slighter poor forgetful Driftwood have? He'd have to be the first to admit that he really wasn't much use in a fight.

But I can make sure everyone else who IS more a fighter is told right off the bat, if need be, if someone is looking the least bit like they might even be thinking about trying the same stunt that Aditya pulled, Driftwood told himself bracingly, trying to bolster his courage from within. His eyes still couldn't help but dart about rather nervously, however, and his paws still skittered about—themselves rather like a gangly young foal trying to figure out these funny-hoof-things, ironically, as they scattered their somewhat haphazard pattern across damp stretches of beach sand. ...It wasn't too deep into the morning however, this day, before he found another, smaller set of prints that converged on very nearly the same direction he was headed. Driftwood's brow furrowed in concern as he paused to sniff over the evidence carefully, and then that furrowing frown of concern grew deeper as he ascertained that the trail most definitely belonged to one of Seelie and Stock's own pups. Out here all on her lonesome? What was little Koi up to?! Driftwood knew they'd have to grow up and away at some point, and start venturing out on their own, but this seemed like rather abominable timing for it if you asked him. Besides which they couldn't be that old yet, could they?! Surely it had only been a few days ago Seelie had introduced them all to the pack, and a scant handful of days before that that they had been born as blind, squeaking things unable to even hear their own greedy cries as they bumbled about at their mother's belly. Driftwood paused for just a second longer to look at his own paw, and to delicately press it into the sandy earth to compare its outline with that of the younger wolf. He had to shake his head with some dismay; the little furballs had grown like weeds, and it didn't seem to him there was nearly as much difference between the respective pawprints' sizes as there really ought to be. Still, Driftwood's worry was not much assuaged by this. He hustled to catch up, especially as it became clear that the smaller prints were determinedly marching right in the last direction he wanted them to go right now: the landbridge that connected this island to all the rest of the wide and dangerous world of the Teekons. Driftwood's unsteady ground-eating trot swiftly turned into more of a pinpoint-focused lope, his own tracks aligning themselves at last and then spreading out the distance between each one. He was more deeply relieved than he really entirely cared to admit to see the small dark form of Koi wending its way along at a pace he could still readily outdo. But then his heart leapt right back up into his throat as he saw the other standing there beyond her—a slight and elegant form that the wind informed him was somewhat deceptive in its outlines, as despite what he'd have called a feminine cast to the form covered by that ruddy pelt, the scent seemed pretty clearly male. Driftwood didn't have a whole lot of attention to give to this small anomaly however, having much more important things on his mind as he whooshed up to the pair of them, slightly out of breath.

Whoah, whoa, hey there Koi— did your legs forget how to work all of a sudden?! Despite his worries Driftwood made an effort to flash the young girl a quick but sincere smile, one that quickly begins to fade as he turns to regard the stranger with concern and suspicion warring for headspace with his usual open friendliness and optimistic ability to look for the best in everyone. Um, hello there, he says politely enough however, and even wags the rear half of his tail a little, despite the unusually guarded look in his tawny eyes. Drift glances down at Koi as if reminding himself what might be at stake here, and tries to casually shift the nearest forepaw so that it lands protectively in-between Koi and this stranger. It's difficult to do this casually, though, and without stepping pretty directly into the stranger's personal space given Koi's own disregard for maintaining any sort of polite or wary distances— so this is a rather inherently threatening sort of movement which inexorably makes Driftwood deeply uncomfortable, something probably rather noticeable from his awkward attempts at maneuvering around on paws that instinctively want to shift and shuffle themselves around in a more dithering fashion, and shuffle-step themselves smartly away from any hint of conflict initiation. Driftwood himself is not used to such constant vigilance, and sits there fervently and repeatedly reminding himself that despite appearances it was indeed quite possible this stranger had some no-good intentions in mind for his beloved island and its pack, not to mention its youngest and most helpless inhabitants. Although perhaps "helpless" isn't quite the right word for one whose ever-lengthening sooty legs have carried her this far out of sight of any more-official guardians of hers and straight into potential trouble. Driftwood tries to keep an eye on the scamp even as he tries to keep his other eye firmly pinned to the invader and alert for the first subtle signs that the other might be planning something Driftwood will be obligated to try and stop, or at least grab Koi and run while he tries to yell for backup on. As a result of this split dual attention however he doesn't really manage all that terribly well at either one of these tasks, however. How do all the puppysitters manage this exhausting nonsense all the time on the job anyhow?! I'm Driftwood, he does remember belatedly to say in the midst of this however. Who're you, where're you from and what is it that you're doing here? Quite a bit more brusque and suspicious than his usual style, and the words and their unavoidable interrogative suspiciousness lay heavy and unnatural upon his tongue, which only makes his uncomfortable paws want to shift themselves self-effacingly around even more, but Driftwood sternly mentally orders them to stay still and lifts his chin as he tried to appear cool, competent, in-control and unconcerned, while also projecting this aura of "Don't mess with me, or my pack; I could hurt you without a second thought." This is so foreign a line of thinking to Driftwood however that no sooner does he grit his teeth and determinedly plant his paws more firmly in the sand than does he already feel his paper-thin tough guy facade start to crack and warp and shatter. He knows he can't be making a very good impression, or setting a good example for the littler one... dammit, Driftwood, get it together!