Wheeling Gull Isle drinking through my muzzle on the kitchen wine

Tagging you because I took twenty years to do the thing. @Komodo ♥

The storm had changed Coelacanth. For the first time in her life, she’d embraced her role. Allmother. Aralez. The seawolves had lost so much — she could not ask them to bear her up and hold her steady. It was her duty now to be that pillar, as strong and steady as the heart of the island that had kept them all safe. When she approached the Labyrinth, her feathery fur rippled bluely across cords of hardwon muscle that ran trimly from her withers to her waist. She was in the best physical shape of her life despite the weight she’d lost pining for her daughter, but it was the newfound purpose with which she moved that transformed her. There was no apology in her when she drew up beside the angakkuq — just a resounding sorrow she dared not breathe life into. Without hesitation or invitation, she pressed her muzzle into the thick ruff around his neck, her teeth and tongue combing tenderly through his fur.

Talk to me, Modo, she begged him quietly, fixing him with a gimlet eye. Her careworn expression was equal parts curiosity and worry as she gazed upon him.