Wheeling Gull Isle Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago

The Lady of the Isle typically scoured the island in the morn, after the night had brought intrigue and treasures to the shores with the pass of the waves - searching for anything amiss before setting about her tasks for the day. 

Yet, as shadows lengthened and the flocks of Wheeling Gull returned to their roosts, the star-kissed Seelie was drawn from the forests, pacing restlessly. Anxiety coiled in her gut, fluttering along her limbs as concern wrinkled her brow. 

Unaware of what caused her unease, the nite nymph drew from the forests to sprint along the sand - hoping a twilight patrol might dispel some energy and calm her nerves. 

Rather, any semblance of peace dispelled and alarm lifted her hackles as the throaty bays echoed, hastening her gallop to a fullblown leaping bound. The sight that awaited her stilled her with surprise, widened amethyst gaze drinking in the sea-tusk that Rosencrantz and Connor warred against. 

"Walrus," she breathed - cursed - in Lirean before jumping into the fray with a little shake of herself. 

She leapt, claws scrabbling and piercing blubber as she struggled for a hold; an angered twist and the creature had shaken her off, the fae darting out of reach to stand alongside the males - casting a worried glance at her Tactician's injury. 

rolled a 9 for 80