Wheeling Gull Isle he hapalua ia o ka honua,

Holokai watches curiously for another moment as the other's lips form another indecipherable shape. Then, something he can understand as Aiolos smacks the sand with his forepaws in a similar gesture, his ears and tails flagging with dominance as he darts toward the wolfdog. Holo's dark tail  whips from side to side as he lowers instinctively -- one paw raising as his liver-colored tongue rasps at his chops and the air in submission. 

It was a start at least, Holokai's lower body wiggling faintly with the occasional repressed wag of  excitement. His movements expressive as they must be, being his only method of communication. I understand. You're in charge.

After a moment, he straightened just a little bit -- pale ears half-rising as he cocked his head curiously. His jade gaze swept to the side over their surroundings with apparent fascination before moving back to the russet islander before him. What is this place?