Wheeling Gull Isle His eye is on the sparrow

the mother of sweetharbor held hope that her recent excursion to the lion's den would imbue her oldest children with a deeper sense of self in themselves. when everett called out, she was lying with them all, head pillowed against her paws.
the pale muzzle raised; the lips curved to see him. "everett," she said aloud, letting the staccato rhythm of her tail against the denfloor announce to the others that all was well.
the calm goldcoin eyes rested on his face, which heda truly felt held a glow shared by them all, the denizens of the island.
speak them, her gaze encouraged, watching with fondness how the younger brood met everett with many kissings and soft sounds.
fatherhood was for those who made themselves father. now the island would have two.