Wheeling Gull Isle i don't do cutesie symbols.

Caracal kicked his legs and glided through the water almost effortlessly… until a swell approached and clobbered him over the head. The force of it plunged him underwater, spinning his lithe body until he didn’t know which way was up. Somehow, he managed to paddle back to the surface with a gasp, just in time to hear Killdeer’s screech as the wave hit him too.

Aw, fuck, the teenager blurted, spitting saltwater out of his mouth as he swam toward his companion flailing, wide-eyed, in the water. I gotcha, he said right before he closed his teeth around Killer’s soaking scruff. Just… hang on, he thought as Caracal then tried to figure out how the hell to drag his nephew’s fat ass to safety.

His waterlogged ears pricked at the distant instructions to go west. Grunting, Caracal spun in the water, still holding tightly to Killer’s fur. Although the saltwater helped with buoyancy, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to drag him very far. Reluctantly, Caracal let go.

Swim this way, he said, sticking very close to Killdeer as he motioned westward. I’m right beside you. Come on, before another wave wipes us out. He gave his nephew a meaningful look, then began paddling again, parallel to the shore off to their left.

It was only a few minutes before his little red toes felt the ocean floor. And then, rather abruptly, he could stand, the water only reaching halfway up his legs. It perplexed Caracal, but he wasn’t going to look at it too closely. His muscles ticked as he turned, ankles sloshing, to make sure Killdeer also climbed onto the concealed sandbar.