Wheeling Gull Isle dance with me and shake your bones.

Towhee spent the morning combing the beach. She found a few scraps of fish which she delivered to Heda before retreating to catch a few winks in a thicket of ferns close to the den. Even with several adults to pitch in, tending to eight puppies and their nursing mother required a lot of effort.

The island’s foliage reminded her of the good days in Epoch, which was bittersweet. But it meant Towhee found sleep rather easily, cradled in green, at least until someone abruptly invaded her space.

With a snort, the sleepy wolf raised head and blinked down at a child whose palette was uncannily Redhawk. Towhee smacked her lips and stared groggily at the pup for a beat, then bent down and unleashed a huge—and particularly fishy—burp right in her face.