Wheeling Gull Isle I just wanna live in the sound scape

For my own reference, five month old Koi’s build, head shape, and size: i · ii. Coat length is slightly shorter; ears are a titch taller, and tellingly tufted.

A few meters away, Koi hopped to her feet and stepped back to admire her handiwork: she’d been lying on her back, wriggling and bucking to try to make an impression in the pocket of damp sand. What she was left with was far from satisfactory — the print didn’t look Koi-shaped at all! — but this wasn’t her first sand-angel-making rodeo. She thought she’d improved on her method somewhat, going for the wet sand instead of the powdery stuff. It wasn’t quite as good as mud, but it was far cleaner.

She was not alone. “`Ohiki,” she entreated in a soft singsong, scooping up the sand crab Overseer between her jaws and depositing him swiftly upon her shoulder before he could tickle — or worse, pinch! — her tongue. All manner of scuttling crustaceans were `ohiki to Koi, whether they had a shell or not. Seelie tended to be pickier when classifying marine organisms, but she and Stockholm tended toward indulgence when it came to teaching their brood the spoken word. On the island, everybody tended to understand what the Seelholms meant anyway, so their burgeoning patois was pretty well reinforced.

The echo of a sputtering gasp caught the pearl’s attention immediately; she alerted, one fine-feathered forelimb tucked sharply up against her breast, the tufted tips of her cartoonishly oversized ears nearly touching as she strained toward the sound. Koi was not a naturally wary wolf, and therefore exerted absolutely no caution. She bounded toward the larger puppy with unabashed eagerness and took in his blushing taupe and soft cream coat with bright, wondering eyes. Concern had her trying desperately to bathe his face, little whines and whimpers interspersed between the ardent, anxious laps of her tongue.