Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

She just kept staring. And staring. And staring—every time he risked a quick peek, there her eyes were, boring deep into him. They were such an unnervingly strange color, too, those eyes—doubtless they were going to haunt his dreams tonight. If he could sleep. He was doing exactly as she'd told him, though, wasn't he?! As fast as he could! He was giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "wolfing it down!" So why was she still staring at him!? Driftwood felt unnervingly like a mouse caught in a hawk's hungry sights, which really didn't make him into any more slow and graceful of an eater. It was in the middle of one of these little stolen glances of his own though that he caught a sight that did stop him in his tracks for a moment. Moorhen was...wagging her tail at him? Was this part of some convoluted and clever plot to set him further off-balance? Because it was working, if so.

Driftwood was cautiously optimistic, though. Maybe she'd meant it? Maybe it was to reassure him that he was doing well, and just as she had asked. He even ventured a teeny, tiny, uncomfortably stiff wag of his own: one tick left, one tick right, and there, the gesture was returned. Only then he instinctively tried to swallow his last half-chewed mouthful in order to audibly reply, and in the process a bit of his meal lodged itself sideways in earnest.

Driftwood gagged, coughed, gasped, and collapsed wheezing to the sand for a minute as he worked the chunk of meat loose. Smooth. The impact on the cold snowy sand seemed to have done the trick, though, because after another few breathless moments of gagging and retching he visibly managed to swallow the bite. His belly roiled as it accepted the offering, but he had to give the remainder of the rather large fish a rather dubious look: no guarantees the next bite would stay down. And okay, yeah...as it turned out maybe talking was better than chomping. Or at least safer.

You are a good wolf, offered up Moorhen as Driftwood tried to continue his staring contest with the now-headless fish. Thank you for loyalty. I am? said Driftwood, and, Oh, er, ah...thanks. I mean, I guess I try? ... You're welcome? This was not at all what he'd been expecting to hear from her. Especially since he had trouble recalling any signs she'd ever done more than tolerate him. Driftwood really was being thrown for a loop here, and his brain scrambled to try and find some answers for what was going on. I mean, uh, you're... you're a pretty good wolf too, right? Y'know? I mean... I mean if you weren't good and loyal, Seelie wouldn't have picked you and promoted you, see, so obviously you must be, it's definitely not just me that thinks so and... and... yeah. Seelie picks good wolves, as he rambled on and then stuttered to a halt, hardly even hearing what he was saying as his mind kept turning over and over. And then something clicked, and then it was Driftwood's turn to stare at his fellow wolf. In horror. Wait, what if Seelie had made an error in judgment? What if the reason Moorhen ws here and approaching and, uh, bribing him like this, was all because she had made a gross error in judgment as well? What if all this talk of "good wolves" and "loyalty" was her way of edging around to trying to promote him? I mean...what other possible reason could somewolf have to bring up loyalty as the particular trait they were singling out? It wasn't like she was praising his speed or stealth or cleverness or the plushness of his coat or how his eyes glimmered like stars or whatever. No, it seemed very pointed to Driftwood that it was loyalty blunt Moorhen was choosing to speak of here.

Driftwood was starting to hyperventilate now, just a little. No fish to blame for any breathing problems this time, though; the half-eaten salmon lay forlorn and forgotten, flakes of snow quietly drifting over the top of it as its consumer stared in gap-mouthed fearful anticipation at the wolf who had fished the critter up. Surely Moorhen knew Driftwood would be a disaster of a leader, but right now Drift was sure that was where this whole thing was headed.

  A darkly amused thought flashed through his head: maybe it would have been better to just choke on the fish. That would have been quicker and more dignified an end than this was about to become, at least. Aiee!