Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

The Akhult's expression shifted quickly from eager watchfulness to concern and then disgust as Driftwood began to choke. She wondered if she ought to do something, but the male handled it on his own, convulsing there on the sand for a moment before eventually swallowing down the troublesome piece of fish. There was something a bit off about this whole exchange, but Moorhen decided to press on while it still seemed to be going at least somewhat well.

"You are very handsome," she said, but she was thinking about him hacking up salmon and it didn't come out quite as convincingly as she'd wanted it to. Instead, it sounded quite rote and mechanical, as things often did when she was expressing them from memory rather than the heart.

Her throat felt very tight all of the sudden, and words began to flee her as she got stuck there in a sneaky spiral of shame. Even Driftwood, one of the most awkward wolves she knew, could run circles around her in the social arena. Everyone always seemed to be several steps ahead of her, even when she was trying her hardest to understand and communicate. She couldn't hope to keep up with Driftwood, and she was beginning to wonder if he hadn't been made a bit uncomfortable just by being in her presence. Surely not?