Wheeling Gull Isle Time for fun

She was surprised the lavender field hadn't taken the lashing from the blizzard. Perhaps it was because the island hadn't received as much snow as she presumed the mainland had. Or it was luck, or. . .it was a sacred place. With the latter thought in mind, Maegi treaded carefully, skirting the meadow with care.

So focused was she on not disturbing the flowers that she nearly missed the black blotch at another edge of it, and only realized she was not alone when she was just about upon the woman. The stranger was sleeping, and Maegi grew even more hushed, giving the wolf. . .wolf?. . .a twice over.

Curious; her ears flopped over instead of pointing aloft, and her coat seemed awfully thin—even finer than Maegi's alabaster pelt. But she knew all too well it was rude to stare at someone different from her.

She engaged herself instead in the flowers, nosing around at the base, wondering if she could take a fragrant clump back to her shared den with Mou (and try to keep them both from nibbling on it out of bored curiosity).