Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

"Small" wasn't quite the word he had been looking for... stocky? A short but bulky boxy sort? Squished? None of the words he was picking seemed quite right, though, and if one was a little worse than the rest of his choices, well then— did it really stick out that much more in this whole morass of ineptitude he was displaying? Moorhen was already drawing back, reconsidering; Driftwood halted his sneaky forward motions and pulled back a reluctant half a step himself, ears slowly drooping as he watched the girl with continuing wretched sidelong hope, though that hope was now dimming. He'd blown it, obviously, as he'd known he would. Too eager, too forward, too clumsy, he berated himself. You're welcome, he said in a very small voice nonetheless, even if his nose was facing the ground now rather than her as he said it, and then in an even tinier voice, It's just the truth?

"Truth" had rarely been enough to save him before, though, and with a sinking pit in his stomach he was pretty certain it wouldn't be nearly enough this time. His tail was inexorably tucking itself down close to his legs now, tight against his rump and no longer able to stir itself to life. Of course she'd backed off from him; who wouldn't? It had been dumb of him to think that her seeking him out actually meant anything potentially different between them. He was as brainless and overeager as a puppy, without the charming fuzzy smallness of his own to match and earn forgiveness for his lack of manners. He did however manage to nod in agreement when Moorhen told him what Seelie said of her—though this puzzled Drift somewhat; even he knew it was kind of unusual to be tacking on one's own compliments to a string someone else had tried to offer. Was she trying to get at something particular here? Or perhaps to just point out how compliments were done right by others, and maybe nudge him into doing a little better? That seemed likely. He was pretty sure he'd always been no great shakes at any of this flattery stuff. But then she threw that theory for a bit of a dizzying loop as well, as she told him that he was a good boy too... I am? he blurted in surprise, unable to stop himself from looking measuringly over at her again, trying to determine if she really meant this. She was so difficult to read, and so mercurial! What did she want from him, here, anyhow?! Driftwood was perfectly willing to offer it, he was sure, if only he could figure out exactly what it was. I mean, I...try, at least...I guess...! No, no, it was too soon to let that spark of hope be rekindled by this remark. He'd read too much into what he'd thought she was trying to say before, after all. Even if she was now telling him he smelled nice, too, at which his face couldn't help but brighten, and the very tip of his sandy brown tail wag.

It was kind of an awkward compliment though, he did have to admit from the receiving side of it. How was one supposed to react to that? A simple thank you? A brief explanatory recitation of one's personal bathing habits that made it all possible? He was indeed adrift in all of this, and desperately wishing something like a floating log or other life preserver would be thrown his way. Um, yes...I... thank you. I... I really appreciate that. Really, really truly he did, but the words sounded so pathetically lame as they fell artlessly from his tongue. Yeah. Mere honesty was definitely not enough here. What did all those other dog wolves have that he didn't, that didn't chase away all their love interests right off the bat? How could anyone anywhere ever manage to find companionship or love when there were such treacherous social swamps as this to be navigated on the way there?! I try to bathe... No, that was dumb too. Find something less dumb to say, Driftwood. Now! Quick! Before she retreats even further and gives up on you entirely! But simply yelling such commands at himself inside his skull somehow didn't quite work to summon up better words, more suave and interesting and lyrical options to lure her in closer to him once more. His nose twitched forlornly, and he lowered his head to scuffle anxiously at the sand for a moment and hopefully buy himself a little space in which to think.

He had to move aside slightly to do this, however, out and around the half-eaten dilapidated fish. And it was only as his claws melted a faint trail in the snowflakes and left light furrows in the sand that they snagged on his earlier find which he had by now forgotten all about. A seashell?! he immediately thought in wild relief—girls liked seashells, too, right? If only this one was big and pretty and intact—but that hope also quickly died aborning, however, as he scraped again at the sharp edge with more purpose, and instead drew up... Um. Driftwood's eyes were baffled. Some strange artifact he'd never before seen, at least so far as he could recollect. It reminded him more of a tough and stringy plant than anything, he supposed, as he drew the weird half-translucent white thing up to have a closer look, with a weird oversized honeycomb pattern to its wide, regular spacing of white rings. It sure didn't smell like any plant he'd ever seen before—but as it obviously wasn't animal or mineral, either, that left vegetable as his closest and blank-eyed guess. Um, he said aloud, still stalling for time. This was no seashell. He had no idea what it was, or for whom it might have served what purpose. In some desperation he held the thing out toward Moorhen, watching in bafflement as it hung there looped loosely about his paw. ...I... don't suppose you want this... this thing I just found? ...I'll just... add it to my collection, I guess... if not... Maybe if he was really, really lucky Moorhen would actually like inexplicable alien objects of great uniqueness.

Or, as was far more likely, think he was a blithering idiot to be picking up random inedible objects on the beach and pawning them off on random passerby. Even though Driftwood was very very much certain right now that he wanted her to be anything but some chance-met rando— but despite his repeated stalling tactics he still wasn't certain how to say that, to make Moorhen aware of how much she intrigued him, particularly with this new side of her he'd never before been privileged to see, and how very much he wished her to stay and further their acquaintanceship to something a little deeper. Deepen into what, exactly, he didn't know... but somehow he doubted he'd ever have the chance to really figure that out, either, as he offered up a feeble little half-grin and forlornly dangled the mystery object in her direction. She would have to come closer to get it, at least, if by some miracle she did want it, he thought wretchedly. Oh, why today, of all days, and why now did he have to pull this freakish thing up from the beach in place of the big pearly beautiful seashell he'd so very much wanted to uncover for her!