Wheeling Gull Isle Welcome to my crib, take your shoes off please

The sea was a place he had never lived before, so everything here felt like something new. New smells, new sights, new packmates to know.

And new ways those packmates looked. Tuathal has never seen a wolf so odd as the one standing at the cusp of the flower specked field. From behind she didn’t look to have any ears at all. For the moment Tuathal pretended this was just a trick of the light. Some wolves were more submissive a carried themselves with tail tucked down and ears pressed flat against their skulls. Maybe this was that kind of gal.

But something still seemed a little odd, and Tuathal made a bit of a girth around her so as to not spook her in his approach, in case she was the skittish kind.

“Are these... flowers?” He said by way of breaking into some kind of conversation. He was about 99% they were, but all he’d heard about the coastline was by word of mouth, and all those wolves ever rambled on about was sand sand rocks and sand. Though, he supposed Gallows might’ve said differently, if he’d ever given the brute an ear to listen that hadn’t been embittered with jealousy.