Wheeling Gull Isle Look monsieur, where all the children play.

John had scattered like a wounded and stunned doe, and Dinah was left breathless and haggard. Lips cracked and dry now from heaved breaths, a whimper comes high in her throat as she searches for her sisters with a quick scan of gleaming eyes. Ana, Ava; bloodsisters, inseparable, impenetrable, and outside their circle is Dinah.
Was this how they'd felt, all this time? Rejected? How ignorant she feels in this moment.
Metallic salt is brushed from her mouth in one swoop of her tongue. The throaty growl of Ava feels territorial, spiteful, and she cannot quite tell whether it is for her or because of her.
The redheaded seawolf blows air in a puff from her nostrils. She does not call for Daddy, nor Mama; no. Instead, she sits adjacent to the two girls, eyes soft and steady. A silent allegiance.
For at least they could agree on one thing.