Wheeling Gull Isle Blood of my blood.

There were faint scents here of wolves traveling on Wheeling Gull Isle. Some scents had been weeks old while others had been fresh. However many of the older and fainter scents were slowly fading away as if nobody had walked upon the island before. This information took time to process in his mind and for a second there he wondered if a pack or close-knit group of wolves had ever called this place a home. His heart suddenly began to beat faster at the thought and the prospect of a pack; however despite his enthusiasm slowly the realization dawned to him that now it was abandoned besides a seasoned-traveler who dared to visit.

And a visit wasn't for the faint of heart of those who only wanted to walk on land without challenging the sea. After all, there was flood and tide to take into consideration when visiting an isle and even then there were dangers of drowning. The other wolf who greeted him, remained at a respectable distance. Dragonfly did the same, his movements skidded to a halt. He returned the greeting with a respectable nod of the head. For a moment he listened to the waves stirring violently against the Isle's shorelines and coast. "Hello I'm Dragonfly." The white wanderer introduced himself. "Do you know if a pack used to live here? I've smelled some old lingering scents that are slowly fading away."