Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

Even at the best of times, Moorhen had a good chance of misunderstanding what was being said to her. So there was no way she'd be able to catch whatever garbled words came out of Driftwood's mouth. Still, she responded with another playful growl, this one slightly more savage from the last, and gladly turned those quick, dizzying circles with him until they stumbled together on the beach. Driftwood escaped largely unscathed, but Moorhen was sent tumbling into the surf, falling on her shoulder in a painless but sopping wet heap.

It was cold, but Moorhen was used to it. She grinned up at him with a mouthful of teeth before shooting to her legs, following after him with a playful growl gurgling in her throat. She hoped to take him from the side, rearing up on her hind legs to wrap them around his neck and hopefully bring him tumbling into the sand along with her.