Wheeling Gull Isle sapped of strength

Driftwood was haunted and weary as well, but although his restless pacing kept faltering and his hindquarters showed a tendency to droop earthward, the booming echoes from nature's wrath outside their door kept interrupting any attempts of his to rest and recuperate. His scruffy brown fur was spiking out into something resembling a porcupine as it dried but Drift was too bone-weary to care.

What he did care about was the wolves whose forms his eyes restlessly roved about. There were so few of them, far too few of them gathered here, and heartsick Driftwood wondered if there was any possibility the others might have managed to find other shelter, elsewhere, perhaps even off the island itself. But Seelie laid there in the entryway guarding them all, and there was Mou right behind her... Driftwood tried to summon up gratitude that these guardians in particular were ensuring that no further harm might come to the seawolves who had made it here, at least (and Thresher was back amongst them, too, at the very least!), but between the storm and his recurrent insomnia in past weeks he was simply too damn exhausted to stir much of that feeling within his heart. His stumbling feet did happen to carry him in the direction of Komodo for a moment, however; Driftwood lifted his hollow, worried eyes and stared, not understanding. His concern for Komodo carried him a few venturesome steps closer, wanting to help, but Driftwood hesitated, uncertain if his help would be welcome and in the end he veered off back toward the entryway. In an increasing stupor he simply watched the others for a few minutes, ears twitching every now and then at a particularly booming report from the weather outside. Then Driftwood hauled his hipbones up off the rocky floor again and stuck his nose down at puppy-level, to try and help usher the rambunctious growing young ones away from the entrance and hopefully help keep them occupied long enough for the storm to die down and the world to return to its normal, more restful state. Hey Thresher. N'c'mon, Grayling, he half-mumbled, but his voice was swallowed up in the next roaring howl of thunder.

He'd had no idea, none whatsoever, that their beautiful little island could work itself into such a frothing temper. But like any temper tantrum, he told himself, it surely couldn't last forever... while outside the storm raged on, and on, and on, and left him wondering if perhaps that was only a lie he was telling himself after all.