Wheeling Gull Isle sermon on the mount

The seasons began to shift again, as consistent as the tides that pushed and pulled at their little island home. Caracal felt a strange melancholy come over him as he realized just how fast time was slipping away from him. The pups were increasingly their own persons, which was mostly a good thing but still hard for him. He found himself longing for those days when they’d been so tiny and dependent.

He was idealizing, he scolded himself as he climbed to where his wife had asked him to join the rest of the family for a meeting. He’d barely survived their infancy. There had been many moments when he’d been certain he would never want to do that ever again! So why was he feeling so nostalgic, to the point of reminiscing? Was this nature’s—or even God’s—way of keeping them multiplying? He’d heard there was a season for everything…

Caracal arrived and gazed around at everyone else, the corner of his mouth lifting. He looked at each of his growing children (not without a slight pang), then moved to his wife’s side. Right in front of God and everyone else, he planted a kiss on her muzzle before taking a seat beside her.