Wheeling Gull Isle maybe it’s not the moon at all

The selkie’s daughter was seething, but she was also terribly confused — she and Amoxtli had met the Earthstalker when they were only six months old, fine-boned and shy, with oversized ears and plush puppy coats. Early on and ever since, Komodo had been afforded a lofty pedestal on which to stand, but until this moment Seelie had been blind to his masculinity in many ways. It wasn’t willfully done. She regarded him as a mentor and a confidant, a protector and a healer — a treasured member of her family! She just didn’t think of him that way, and when he wrenched his gaze away from hers and twice sought confirmation of this truth, she answered him honestly:

“No, Modo.”

The heavy thunderclap of his jaws and the indignant snort that followed shocked and frightened her — tufted ears snapped defensively back, then sprang to attention — but she did not truly start to hurt until he spat at her, the uncouth language ringing against the walls of the Labyrinth and echoing mockingly around her: “fuckin’ tease, fuckin’ tease, fuckin’ tease…”

A roil of emotion, thick and frightening, welled up in her — she wanted to hip check him right in the jaw or grab the bridge of his frowning muzzle in her teeth — but she merely stood her ground, cerulean eyes limpid and luminous in the crepuscular maze. She said nothing aloud, but huffed a soft, exasperated sigh. Visibly ruffled, she reached desperately within herself for the wellspring of compassion she depended so heavily on and drained it to the dregs. Quill-like hackles smoothed, though she still stood stiff-legged and unmoving before her erstwhile champion. A wispy whine like a peace offering danced upon her lips. “Modo…” she breathed with infinite gentleness.

“You lie,” came her frail rejoinder in a silky susurrus, for teasing was a deliberate, malicious act, and she had committed no such crime! With utter disregard for her own personal safety, she made to touch her nose to his thickly-furred cheek and the stubborn clench of his jaw. “Do you — h-hope — ” her words were slow and measured, but not without error, “ — do you wish to leaf Undersea?” Her manner of asking was not threatening, though the words could have been taken as such, especially given the inflammatory nature of their conversation. She soldiered on, though:

“Unheppy here?”