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

Skipping Stockholm with permission. ♥

Sunny stretched out on his stomach, and Coelacanth saw in that motion a man falling to his knees in absolute surrender. She cared for him tenderly, protecting his vulnerability with a gimlet eye, and kissed the tears from his cheeks with soft sweeps of her tongue. “Peace be, Sunny,” she breathed, settling herself more solidly against him that he might draw comfort from her nearness. “Stay, today, tomorrow,” she urged him, for the journey had to have been arduous. “Morningside home, Undersea home, all family.”

There was no shame in crying, and Coelacanth rested her head cross the boy’s withers to absorb the shudder of his breath. “Let free,” she murmured to him softly, licking at the backs of his ears. “To bleed, to heal.” It was a clumsy analogy, but the Aralez had become a big believer in taking time to grieve, whatever way was most comfortable.