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

The fur along Hviske's spine shot up and he yelped in fear for a moment, his eyes faced with two angry wolves. One was the mother he'd seen the other day and the other he could only assume was the father of who knew how many pups on this island. 

His voice was quiet, shaking, trying to remember that while he felt young and helpless, he was the size of a grown wolf. He was the grown adult carrying him through whatever had gone through his head. The yearling's tail curled between his legs, a whine at his throat.

Such a stupid plan. All they did was fail him, what was their purpose if they'd only lead to anger?

Never the strong one, was he. Yellow eyes barely held their gaze higher than the two's paws. My name is Hviske, sir and ma'am, Viska, his mother's little whisper. No one sent me - I do not... have... anyone. And in truth, I do not know what I was doing, a-and I am terribly sorry. It was improper of me.

Not a word of it was a lie.