Wheeling Gull Isle Where you go I go

An unfamiliar voice carried on the wind, calling from the Strand, summoned Stockholm from his self-appointed duties of checking on the food caches. He trotted out to the shore, half expecting to see Coelacanth already there even though she was with the pups when he left the den – she was fond of greeting newcomers, of claiming them as her own, as part of the pack. But today Stockholm arrived before the inky sheepdog, and the only other soul on the beach is a tawny brown wolf.

While the Gampr’s posture is self-confident and authoritative, his voice is still warm and welcoming. “Something I can help you with?”