Wheeling Gull Isle To the strand a picnic plan for you and me

The brushing of their pelts, the slight touching here and there - even if he believed it was just how she was with everyone, that he was not special, he felt awkward. Not in a negative way, but simply as how a highschool boy would feel around their first real crush. Uncertain on how to approach, how to act around them, the accidental touching of hands. If it was just a fleeting feeling or actual affection. For a man far past those days, Rose has had no experience in such a thing; uncertain of its truth or if he was reading into things a little too much.

Hardly. We grew up only knowing war. He left earlier than I did, as soon as he was old enough. We know who we were. Back then, back when battling was everything. When the lead even between puppies, brothers were important rather than playful banter. That the dominant of the two would receive perks for being better than the other at any given time. 

With a light sigh, he was somewhat pleased to hear that nothing major has gone down since he was away. It seemed they had gotten a lot together during his time away too, which was encouraging. Not quite, I was trying to figure out the best way to bring food back here from out there - without stressing our native source too much. I thought perhaps of having a pack hunt while the bridge is up and bring back as much meat as the group can carry and stock it away before the bridge vanishes again.

Especially with her already certain that the local deer are preparing to leave after the wolves had claimed their lands, the sea beasts would be all they have left. I even mused with the idea of getting a familiar... a bird to carry news from the shore back to the island.