Wheeling Gull Isle Before the morning sun, when life was lonely

The news from Morningside — what was left of it, anyway — was deeply upsetting for Coelacanth, who had planned to send her children there for tutelage once they were old enough (and she was brave enough). It was the Corten way: cleave to the ocean, but respect the land and learn its lessons. It was on the tip of her tongue — “Tell of Elysium,” — but all the words stilled in her throat and all her plans whirred to a stop the moment the words, “Catori vanished,” struck the air. She stepped back as if she’d been physically struck, wavering on her feet before finally she dropped heavily to her haunches and bowed her head. “Sunny, no,” she begged him in a hoarse whisper, her finely sculpted head angled low and her Neptune eyes gazing up at him beseechingly. It was also the Corten way to wander, but not like this. Not like this.

It only got worse, and by the time Sunny finished the Lamentation of the Lost, Seelie was crushed. To have lost not only Catori and Grayday but the three Morningside Cortens was a true tragedy and it ricocheted from her heart to Stockholm’s. The alliance was broken, and so too was the young mother’s heart.

The Gampr wore a solemn expression, but mustered up enough strength to utter the words his wife could not: “We’re so sorry, Sunny,” he murmured in a guttural rumble, stepping forward to nudge gently at the silver male’s shoulder in a gesture meant to be supportive and comforting. “We’ll pass on the word to the other seawolves, see if anybody’s seen or heard anything.” He remembered the names, cataloguing them with great care, and when Seelie remained silent, he answered Sunny’s question: “We’ve experienced a great loss of our own. Thresher, our firstborn daughter — you remember her, don’t you? She’s built like Seelie, but she looks like me, only with a black spot under her left eye. She has her mother’s ears. All of them do.”