Wheeling Gull Isle wanderer, what are you searching for?

“Adi. Aditya.”

She shaped the syllables with a tender mouth before breathing life into them — “Aditya,” — and when she did, her tapered muzzle dipped sharply, bent beneath a tidal wave of shyness. “Adi.” Tufted ears fluttered like nervous wings as she awaited the rebuke she was conditioned to expect — but when it did not come, she raised her finely-sculpted head and gave him an timorous smile.

Abandoning the precariousness of the spoken word, Coelacanth woofed softly and began to herd guide the burly male, gently but insistently, away from the sea. The mountain to the north — diminutive in comparison to the great, towering peaks she had seen on the mainland — afforded the seawolves a wealth of sweet, clean water in the form of waterfalls and rivers; and it was to one such rill that she led him. Feathered paws paused at the water’s edge, and with her Neptune eyes fixed intently upon his face, she lowered her head to lap at the glimmering surface — a few swallows only, and mostly out of politeness [and to prove the water was safe].

Crystalline droplets clung to her chin and whiskers when she stepped back, making a sweeping gesture with her nose akin to the magnanimous wave of a kind hostess’ graceful hand. What is mine is yours, bespoke her mien, sumi-e brush tail ticking like a slow-set metronome against her hocks.