Wheeling Gull Isle stand by the stairway, you'll see something

Peregrine. The quietly-voiced utterance was quickly drawn out—and cast from her attention—by the eldest girl's babbling, rising to a decibel much too loud for the tightly-packed den. Shhh, she whispered gently, maneuvering the pup so that her face was gently (but pointedly) tucked within Maegi's armpit, nestled within the plush pale fur there.

Maybe not Venninne, then. The guardian who'd protected Maegi all those moons ago had been silent, barely uttering a word or two in all the time she'd known her. This one, well. . .quite the opposite.

Peregrine, she finally repeated, her countenance warming like the sun at the newly-christened Blueberry's yawn. She liked it. Her eyes, Maegi assumed, would be blue, like all other children's eyes. Would they remain so? Or would they gain the fire of her father's—or the bone-white stare of many a Blackfeather—or—?

Peregrine. She bit down firmly on the word, keeping it at the front of her mind. What's—who's—that?