Wheeling Gull Isle sorrowing, sighing, breathing, dying

Coelacanth tended to take her seawolves’ love and respect for granted. It wasn’t that she ever forgot how lucky she was, or that she didn’t appreciate their loyalty — it was just that when she offered a promotion or issued a command, she assumed it would be carried out without an excess of prompting or coaxing on her behalf. That said, she found that her pulse sped up considerably as she awaited Moorhen’s reply, a thousand needles of anxiety threatening the bubble of hope that stirred tenuously within her heart. When at last the banded raven acquiesced, “I will be Akhlut,” with a steadfast nod, Seelie drew in a slow, deep breath and her body started to move again.

Ever since Maegi had overdosed on the poppies, Seelie, Hemlock, and @Reed had kept a close eye on the herbstores — and the sheepdog was loathe to dose such a young puppy with the addictive substance. “Redcliff,” she whispered, tipping her head at the note of familiarity. She’d heard a similar name somewhere before, but where? “Redcliff, Redcliff,” she breathed, musingly, and then the lightbulb went on: “Radcliffe?” she asked him, crouching down in front of the boy with wide eyes. “Radcliffe know Sunny? Aliac, Pema, Afiana, Faye? De…Dem…Dem — ” Yeah, there was no way she was going to remember a name like Desdemona on the first try.

“Morningside? Radcliffe know Morningside?” the Aralez asked, beginning to lick soothingly at his wounded paw. There was a wide abrasion where the lateral aspect of the fifth digital pad had scuffed against the stone, but it was already healing well. The nail, too, was intact. The issue, she thought, was within — but she didn’t want to test for broken bones without @Komodo’s help. He would perhaps be able to lull the boy into a trance without the use of materia medica and help her palpate the injured paw.