Wheeling Gull Isle A monkey's Wedding

Mild powerplay of Stockholm with permission ♥

Coelacanth was a blimp.

Elenor’s call had admittedly gone unheeded at first by the very pregnant Aralez, and the answering cry of her mate had only seemed to enforce her right to laze and doze — but Stockholm’s second howl was for Seelie specifically, so she rolled to all fours with no small amount of effort and lumbered toward the Strand. Tufted ears tipped forward upon her skull as she espied the silver-furred female, and her nares quivered as she drew nearer still; though the color of the wolf’s pelt was washed out, her scent informed the Groenendael that she was hearty and hale.

“Peace be,” she offered in a breathy whisper, her feathered tail waving genially.

Coelacanth listened as her mate introduced her, his roughhewn timbre as cordial and warm as he made the necessary introductions: “This is Coelacanth, the pack’s Aralez; Seelie, this is Elenor.” She dipped her muzzle in acceptance of her title, though she didn’t know what Elenor would think of Undersea’s somewhat unorthodox hierarchy. “Welcome,” she offered simply, wondering if the female had come for a visit or planned to stay. “Hunger? Thirst?” She endeavored to at least make Elenor comfortable until the moongilt creature was ready to make a decision.