Wheeling Gull Isle when i was a child, i caught a fleeting glimpse

set last night

There were pack-scents beyond the bramble forest, but Maegi ignored them. She was too rattled by the sudden change of location for the Redhawks (or wolves that smelled like them, anyway) to stop—and she knew @Titmouse was in agreement, even if they hadn't discussed it. They forged on, wasting no time, and arrived at the shore. The tide sank low as the moon rose over the waves.

Almost there, she murmured to Titmouse as they padded across the now exposed land bridge. There was a couple of inches of water blanketing it but not much more; they sloshed through, Maegi too excited to stop even to breathe. And the island rose up ahead. . .

Except, as they arrived, alarm bells immediately sounded off in her mind. For the scents that lined the edge of the beach were not the familiar warmth of Coelacanth or musk of Stockholm; there was no Moorhen, no Driftwood—nobody she knew. Instead, a collection of very unfamiliar smells greeted them, pungent and foreboding.

The Undersea wolves had been supplanted.

Shit, she mumbled, sending out a howl before falling into her own personal downward spiral of worry. What had happened to their old friends? Who were these newcomers? Had everything changed here, despite appearing much the same?