Wheeling Gull Isle fried chicken

The world that is not this one is different. Quiet, distance, there’s something—music?—in another room, maybe, but she can’t quite hear the words. The young girl floats through the air like waves, the ocean rolling beneath her. Life begins and ends with the ocean. A wolf curls around her.
 
Eyes fling open and she coughs, wheezes, and sputters, water spitting from her mouth and dripping from her nose. The salt water burns the insides of her chest and nose and eyes, everything is sore and maybe broken—it definitely hurts—and she hardly realizes she’s encased beneath a protective mother. One hands lifts into the air, then out in front of her to grab something, and only feeling damp fur. A second hand follows and she twists away from the licks, raggedly coughing with the added adrenaline coursing her veins.
 
When Ravioli does realize it’s a wolf, her eyes widen and she can’t catch her breath enough, flinging herself  back in surprise.