Wheeling Gull Isle you were a comet... and i lost it...

He yelped a bit in surprise. A... pup? Wow, there were a lot of pups on this island. How many mothers were there?

Did they need help looking after everyone?

The yearling cleared his throat. Hviske, viska, it sounded. His mother had named him for the whisper of a bark he'd made as a newborn. True to his history, his voice had always been quiet and hard to hear, even if he spoke loudly. Hard was it for he with quiet words on the outside but a flurry of unanswered questions on the inside. and... no... I do not have... a pack at all. I have not... been a part of one for... a while. 

Hviske's hind legs pushed the rest of him out of the hole. I do not know what I was doing, in truth. he looked every bit as shy as his voice made him out to be, a whine and not meeting the pup's gaze.