Wheeling Gull Isle if only time flew like a dove

It was not often that Moorhen went out of the way to speak to others. She enjoyed the company of the Volkodav-Cortens, but even her desire to spend time with them could be spotty at times. She was still a quiet and watchful fixture at the edge of their lives, but not the wolf that others went to when they needed affection or understanding.

So it was odd that she was sniffing out @Driftwood's usual haunts, and even odder that she carried a dying salmon that she did not intend to keep for herself. It flopped weakly in her iron jaws, trying to escape even in the throes of death. Moorhen ignored it and walked doggedly onward.