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

Coelacanth tried to pull herself together, but it was difficult. Only the reflection of her heartbreak on Sunny’s face coaxed her to get up and move toward him. He was too tall and broad-shouldered now for her to hide him under her body like a small puppy, but she pressed her body parallel to his, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. Stockholm took up the other side, and together, the Gampr and the Groenendael sandwiched Grayday’s son in a clasp of love and support. When at last Seelie could speak, she chose her words with utmost care: “Sunny Corten ever, family ever,” she breathed. She did not seek to steal away his heritage or birthright, but instead to extend her family network to him that he might not feel so alone. “Ally ever, welcome ever.” She bathed his face in kisses, butting his chin with the bridge of her muzzle. “Joy, hope,” she wished him. “Keep. Hold. For lost ones.” Her words were far from eloquent, but Stockholm was silent in their wake — she had said all they needed to say, he thought, and simply murmured affirmation of these things to Sunny.