Wheeling Gull Isle eastbound & down

Szymon’s presence on the island had driven a thorn between the sheepdog and her lamb. Seelie stowed her aversion with meticulous care and was consistently cordial toward the wolf who had, at one time, been her Leviathan — but the cool, closed off expression she wore around him was so out of character, she probably gave herself away. She couldn’t help feeling relieved that he was leaving the island, but even that brief respite was sundered by a feeling of panicky dread — Koi was going with them. Not even the Aralez’s rock-solid trust in Moorhen could assuage her.

She approached the shoreline with @Stockholm at her side and their children in tow. @Grayling and @Six wore matching expressions of comingled envy and concern — @Thresher’s disappearance had affected them all on a deep, visceral level — but when Koi’s face started to crumple dejectedly, they hastily changed their tune. Someday, they’d all have their own adventures — today just happened to be Koi’s turn.

When Coelacanth moved forward, Szymon backed up. It wasn’t kindness that drove him to give the two females space, but the ghost of a memory he couldn’t quite catch. Ves…Ves… She was dear to Doe, this small, odd, finely-drawn, stony-faced female — and she was the leader here. He wasn’t remembering a leader, though. He was remembering — flashes of light and color, two females — Doe and Deirdre — or Doe and Muses — or Doe and — “Ves,” he ventured aloud, and the sheepdog turned her sharp eyes on him but said nothing at all. He shuffled where he stood, and turned his eyes to the tiny girl, her tiny siblings. All of them wore telling tufts upon their oversized ears, and that was another incongruence. It made him remember that Seelie had a very large, very unimpressed looking mate. Without another word, Szymon turned to the surf and submerged himself, striking out for the mainland.

The goodbyes did not include him.