Wheeling Gull Isle I hate to be the bearer of bad news

The tiny Groenendael’s expressive countenance flitted wildly from emotion to emotion in the wake of Sunny’s revelation. By the time he finished speaking, her seasparkle eyes were practically all pupil, wide with shock and horror. The weight of the news was so crushing that she could not weep and therein find release; in fact, she sought cessation of her mate’s tender ministrations with a soft, quicksilver wrinkling of her muzzle, revealing the tips of her canines. Stockholm understood her better than any other creature and took her warning for what it was — “Please don’t kiss my face, but I’m sorry and I love you and please don’t leave me aweiruaiower!” He dropped his chin to her wrist again, and she fussed over him, nibbling at his short-cropped ears before she spoke.

Coelacanth looked at her children, nestled at her side. She looked at Sunny, whose nose was buried into her feathery fur, and began grooming him with long, slow strokes. “Sunny,” she breathed. She wanted to leave immediately for Morningside, but her children were still too young — and her pack needed her. She looked at her babies, a soft whuff anointing each tiny head: @Grayling, @Thresher, @Sixgill, and Koi. None of them had official names yet, though she and Stockholm had talked about it at length. She had planned on a grand ceremony for their Naming — introducing the puppies to the ocean and the rest of Undersea at the same time — but the giving of this gift could not wait.

Seelie drew her nose with especial care over her firstborn’s crown. “He is One,” she whispered softly. “First.” She paused for a moment, then quietly let go of the name she had wanted to give him. “He is Grayling Corten,” she decided, her silky susurrus tinged with gentle finality. “For honor, and for love.” She hoped that some of Grayday’s spirit would live on in the small ocean soul who fed so greedily at her breast.