Wheeling Gull Isle musou il mare

Backdated to November 26, 2018. Coelacanth is temporarily stepping down. This thread is MANDATORY. You only need to post once. @Driftwood @Reed @Rokig @Blossom

Despite Stockholm’s love for her and the sweet reassurance of her children — all six of them: Fern, Mur, Grayling, Thresher, Sixgill, and Koi — the betrayal Coelacanth had suffered at Aditya’s jaws was devastating. To have it followed by Faeryn’s departure and the odd, unprecedented disappearance of Komodo’s seahawk was crippling. She felt more inadequate by the day, unable to tend her seawolves with the competence required to keep them. She was only marginally present — and it was this undulating miasma of brain fog that had cost her the greatest treasure of all.

Where was @Stockholm’s feather-furred miniature? The inky sheepdog had combed every inch of the island, and her firstborn daughter was nowhere to be found. This monumental loss was a painful reminder of the many other losses Undersea had experienced over time, and Seelie found she could not bear it. She had lost weight she could ill afford, and her children and mate were far from impervious to her mood.

Today she had come to a decision about at least one thing: she would forsake her place at the pack’s helm until she could find within herself some long-forgotten reserve of strength. “Stockholm,” she breathed, blotting away a new wave of tears in the thick fur of his ruff. “Call @Komodo. Call @Moorhen. Sing pack here.”

Once the Gampr’s voice had rolled down Skybowl’s sloping skirts and through the island’s trees, Hemlock and the Five were quick to make an approach. @Thresher’s absence was a thorn in the sheepdog’s paw, but she bore herself up and stood as tall as she could. The elevation helped, but her tiny stature was far from impressive despite the stony seriousness in her face. When she judged the time was right, “My Treasure lost,” she whispered, the pain in her voice turning her hollow utterance into a litany of pain. “Komodo, your Vedmak. Moorhen, your Agarwaen. I am Aralez no more — I am Athelas, until all wound heal.” Her voice took on an eerie note, one ear cocked toward the sea as if the waves spoke to her with some otherworldly tongue. “Storm come. Soon reborn. My baby — find. Bring home.”

A stomp of one catlike paw emphasized her final command, and then, a broken wraith of her former light, she shed her mantle before the seawolves she so loved.