Wheeling Gull Isle All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust.

Tilting her head to the side, and giving an incredulous look at her friend Padma laughed and threw her head back. The water splashing her, and sinking beneath her fur chilling her skin beneath. A shiver ran along her spin, and she jumped skipping her way back toward the shore. “You’re just so easy to pick on.” Sticking her tongue out at Strand, Padma ran for the shore.

Slowing she turned back, looking over her shoulder, the petit girl grew slightly more serious. “How is your shoulder?” Even though Strand made light of the injury, Padma was still worried. An injured wolf often didn’t live long without the help of a pack, and Padma could only do so much.