Wheeling Gull Isle Yacht rock season.

Someone is here. Judah follows toward their smell, swiftly through the salt air. He keeps his strides low as he scans the open coast from his concealed passageways, though his heart hammers violently, because he knows these scents. And if Dinah could come back to him… he wouldn’t believe it until he saw them. He hikes up a granite rise then out onto a precipice until he stands at the top. His eyes scan the barren stretch of sand, much of this coastline pale and smoothed by the beat of the sea. He tenses, inhaling to catch wolf scent from a cool gust. They were close.

He tumbles down onto the beach, picking his way across the sand as quickly as his three legs would allow. Up ahead there is splashing in the surf, a blur through the waves. He freezes, lifting his head, squinting his eyes against the flare of sunlight…

Before he can make sense of anything his body quivers into a lay, throat leaking a whine, tail wagging so furiously it makes seeing straight impossible. His eyes line with tears and the one  remaining paw rakes the sand towards his brother and grandmother.