Wheeling Gull Isle the lonely sea and the sky

This has some very heavy assumptions regarding the previous thread. If either of you two are not okay with anything here, please PM/message me on Slack and I will change it ASAP. Also anyone from Undersea is welcome. Set for the day after. @Coelacanth.

She’d taken @Anatha and @Calypso further inland away from the others. It would have been easy to tag along with them but they all had their hands full and she’d earned a little trust between the two girls she collected. She was already used to have young wolves around her and though these two are nearly grown, they are still young enough to need a lending hand with their wounds and, now, homelessness. They’ve found themselves together in the same boat at the same time and if she can keep them safe, she will. The weather hinders a lot of what she wants to do for them but it doesn’t stop her from trying.

They’d found shelter to try and wait out the storm. It is small but enough for the three of them and it keeps them protected from the angry world around them. She tended to their wounds the best she can with nothing to work with and most of her attention went to trying to dry them off as best she can.

The next morning, she stretches out her legs and bumps into one of them. The rain is still heavy but the lightning and thunder has subsided, leaving them with the weight of the remnant of the storm. She rouses the girls a little and tells them of her plan to leave for the morning in search of food and herbs and with the hope that they stay put, she untangles herself and begins the morning out into the rain. She doesn’t know what to expect, if she’ll find anything for them to eat at all, but she keeps her ears forward and eyes peeled for any signs of movements or the right whiff of a scent the water doesn’t drown out.

Takes place on May 30, 2017.

Coelacanth awoke in a fever.

Catlike paws flipped and paddled — the storm was inside her now, its whipping winds and rolling thunder gripping her lungs, heart, and belly and wreaking havoc. She jolted to all fours, bright cerulean eyes still heavy-lidded and gritty with sleep, and trembled where she stood as she attempted to get her bearings. The night had passed in a dizzying blur that she still couldn’t find her way out of. The feralized creature she had become held little trust for any of the wolves present, but avoided with particular care the two young females for reasons she couldn’t fully understand. It felt as though her mind was keeping secrets from itself, and the feeling only grew worse when she looked upon the collection of vagabonds around her.

The island had an owner — Marbas! — and something inside her insisted that this information was significant, but she couldn’t hold onto it. It was too heavy.

Why was Axolotl here? His name was heavy, too — heavier than the face of the green-eyed girl but not quite as heavy as Komodo’s voice murmuring, “Hey, big ears.”

What a funny thing to say! If she’d been able to, the little Groenendael would have laughed about it. It was funnier still that he’d said it as if it was something terribly important.

Was it important?

Something didn’t feel right about the green-eyed girl existing on the same island as the other two — there were too many timelines colliding together and tangling themselves up. Axolotl felt far away, and the green-eyed girl felt near — Komodo, on the other hand, wove in and out of time as easily as a thought. Limping and wobbling, the little stray abandoned the crevasse she’d crammed herself into and walked out the stiffness of her spindly limbs until she had achieved a modicum of her natural grace. It was pure coincidence that the first face she saw was the one presently on her mind, and she wondered whether she was awake or dreaming as she huffed her surprise through her nostrils: “boof!” Tufted ears swept forward upon her skull even as she took a step back, blinking raindrops from her lashes.

The other wolves on the island are somewhere in the back of her mind and she doesn’t allow herself to worry about them. They are capable of taking care of themselves, from what she’s gathered, and those already on the island are lost for the time being. She has two young girls to watch over, to take care of, and she wonders briefly why she’s taken on the responsibility. It would have been easy to shuffle them off to the other wolves so she didn’t have to worry about them but she thinks back to Dawn and Sunny and the little family they had with Grayday. Her throat closes up and she heaves back a sob, struggling to keep her mind clear on her motive.

Boof.

The girl freezes in her path, slowly turning until she sees the wispy, dark wolf she’s seen here and there since their stretch in the sunspire. She blinks a few times, slowly allowing one breath in, one breath out, but she doesn’t make any noise, any movement.

All thoughts of her former family are set aside and she stands there as if she’d run across a feral cat on the downtown streets. If she moves too fast, if she says anything, does anything, surely the little wolf will run off. Carefully, she lowers her head and waves her tail behind her, flashing a little smile. The need to take care of her, in the same way she has the girls back at the cave, takes over and she doesn’t move until she’s given clear indication that it is all right. The rain barrier between them doesn’t give her much view of the wounds the other has inquired but she remembers what she saw at the lake several days ago. The distance makes it impossible to assess and as much as she wants to move forward and check everything over, she keeps her feet firmly planted on the ground.

Tension. It sings along every nerve as the tiny Groenendael regards the green-eyed girl, whose gentle, smiling face and amicably waving tail draw her in. Coelacanth hesitates, turning to glance suspiciously over her injured left shoulder, her left foreleg lifting automatically to relieve some of the pressure on the bruised, inflamed flesh. Her bright, intelligent eyes peer intently through the pitter-patter of the rain for a long, pregnant moment before she turns back around — and even then, she does not look at the wolf but behind her. Her graceful neck angles slightly as she searches the shadows intently for a sign of the two younger girls, and when she doesn’t see them she relaxes — but only marginally.

Seelie draws a deep breath, her concave sides pulling taut against the scalloped gradient of her ribs, and releases it on a whuffling sigh. She is improved, somewhat, from their first meeting — her sharp little fangs stay tucked beneath her velveteen flews and there is recognition and understanding in her Neptune gaze — but she is far from rehabilitated. A particularly fat raindrop manages to land with a plop! on the tufted tip of her ear, and the moisture that drips down into the canal causes her to flick her ear and shake her head — a small gesture that turns into a full body shake. Moisture springs from her in a fine mist, and the movement causes her flighty muscles to loosen. The green-eyed girl is not a threat — Seelie knows this much, even if she doesn’t know much else — and she relaxes enough to turn her muzzle to the sky and let the rain drum upon the thin contours of her face. It slicks away the salt, dribbling from the quill-like tips of her feathered fur in milky rivulets.

As the other’s head begins to shake, the rest of her body follows, and she takes a step back to avoid any further wetness. The rain does enough to keep her fur soaked to the skin, struggling to maintain her body temperature. If she could get off the island, she would, but she finds herself rooted for the girls she’s taking care of and, if the other will let her, the little wolfdog.

She seems to settle a little bit, looking toward the sky, and she’s able to see the way one puncture looks. Her nose wrinkles, then frowns, and she picks one foot up to move forward but she remains planted. “I can help you,” she tells her, letting her head droop below her shoulders. “I don’t even have to get close, I can tell you what to do?” she then asks, nose pointing in her direction as if to indicate the infected puncture but her fine motor skills are limited with their distance.

As always, it is the talking that draws Coelacanth’s attention. Her muscles leap beneath her fur in a nervous ripple at the first syllable out of the green-eyed girl’s mouth, but she settles almost immediately thereafter and blows out a soft breath, a fine spray springing from the expulsion of air from her nose and lips. Neptune eyes search the young wolf’s face, then immediately dart about the clearing to check the shadows for other faces — but the certainty that they are alone for now seems to put the ink-feathered creature at ease.

The girl makes mention of Coelacanth’s wounds — not verbally, but with the pinpoint sway of her black-glistening nose — and at first the skeletal wraith does not understand. The pain; the fever-heat; the smell of infection — these things have become part of her existence for such a prolonged time that she has simply come to accept them. She turns, slim jaws parting sharply on a yelp that is little more than a quick rush of air at the stab of discomfort, but the worst of the wounds are located just out of reach. The words of the speckled girl come back to her in a burst of memory that she is helpless to dispel, and she is filled with shame:

“Make sure you wash our scent off of you as soon as you can — we are not wanted by many. At least you cannot speak of all you have seen here. Get to a healer for your wounds — try to scavenge or even hunt. Go somewhere far, far away from here.”

The scent, she is certain, will never come off — because she can still smell it. It’s still there, in the pores of her skin. Suddenly agitated by its perceived resurgence, she tosses Cascada a look of wrenching desperation. “I can help you,” she’d said, and Coelacanth latches onto that promise with abrupt ferocity. She’ll die, otherwise. They will find her, come for her, drag her back to the Wolfskull and laugh at her. The little wolfdog lowers herself to the ground, crawling on her belly in the rain to stop a few feet away from the green-eyed caretaker, and for a moment merely looks up at the girl with lonely cerulean eyes.

Then, deliberately, she turns her head and rests her chin upon the muddy earth, her shoulder and nape bared to the honey-and-cinnamon female. Catlike paws come up to drape themselves over the bridge of her streamlined muzzle, and she looks pleadingly at Cascada from this vantage point. “I will not bite you. I am a good dog,” says this posture and the frail little flicker of her tail, the soft fold of her tufted ears and the slightly lifted left hind leg that is prelude to the displaying of her sodden undercarriage in submission.

After a long moment, and uncertain what she should really do, the other lowers to the ground and crawls across the wet expanse between them. Her ears fold back against her head as she watches, a sudden wash of saliva pooling in her mouth but she licks back before it drips from her muzzle. With her close, she can see the severity of some of them but she’s distracted by how scared and desperate she seems. The cracks in her heart only widen and she lowers her nose, slowly, to touch the space between the little wolf’s eyes.

Cascada takes a step back and flicks an ear as the water continues to fall. The worst of the storm is over, at least—not that she knows that—but she can take advantage when she has been given one. “Are you hungry?” she says, lowering her gaze once more. She knows the answer to be yes but she doesn’t want to dismiss any of her questions, either. It’ll bide her some time, too, to give nutrition in the wispy woman while she tries to find proper herbs for the remedies she knows.

Coelacanth’s slim jaws are clenched tight as she braces herself for the pain that will surely come — but it never does. Instead, the polished black button of Cascada’s nose presses a soft, butterfly-frail touch just between Seelie’s bright, bewildered eyes and the nearness is at once so terrifying and pleasurable that she squeezes them shut. A shiver dances its way down her spine, and when the contact ends less than a heartbeat later, her eyes fly wide in protest.

Cascada retreats a step, and a strangled “yelp” that is more of a sharp rush of air escapes the diminutive creature. Muddied hindquarters shove Coelacanth forward to immediately close the renewed distance, and she stops just short of throwing her slight frame against the green-eyed girl’s slender forelegs. “Please don’t leave me!” she begs without speaking, her Neptune eyes luminous and frightened, the tip of her nose trembling wildly as she reaches out to touch it to her friend’s paw. Yes, she is hungry — she is always hungry —

— but she does not want to be left behind.

The reaction she gets is not the reaction she anticipates. When she draws up close, Cascada flinches, afraid she may have startled the young wolf too much and she is retaliating. When she is not met with teeth, she slowly relaxes and shifts when she notes the affection to her paw. It puts her ears back against her head, uncertain where to move next—she doesn’t want to frighten the little wolf any further—and slowly takes a step back while her nose lowers to touch one of her ears.

It’s okay.

“Come with me?” she offers and tentatively lifts a paw, giving the girl ample time to decide what she wants to do.

“Come with me?”

The invitation isn’t enough to fully transform Coelacanth into the cheerful creature that scrabbles to be set free, but it loosens some of the tension in her tightly wound frame. She seems to melt the moment Cascada’s nose brushes against the tapered petal of her ear, a low and rhythmic purring taking up residence in her throat, and shimmies closer. When the green-eyed girl lifts a paw, Coelacanth snakes her muzzle and then the crown of her head under the cool, leathery pads like an overeager kitten seeking affection. From this odd vantage point, she slants an oblique glance shyly up at the willowy female and nods bashfully. The pain of her injuries and the shame she feels at her unkempt state are forgotten in an instant.

Cascada hopes, for ease, that she can find something to scavenge for the lot of them. Having more mouths to feed hadn’t been much in her head until that morning and the reality hits her. She’d always helped in hunts when she’d been able and learned a few tricks, but it isn’t her primary skill. With the extra help, even injured, she’s sure the two of them can come up with something. Untangling herself from the little wolf, Cascada moves forward and directs the two of them toward the ocean.

Just as she remembers, several tide pools had been pushed back by the storm and, to their luck, had their fill of both dead and alive, and she nearly yips in excitement and bounces on all four feet. A jolt of pain surges through her and she cringes, but she manages to keep her tongue silent to resettle. “Fish?”

The little sheepdog follows Cascada like a creature born to a life of attentive servitude; the tip of her nose rests even with the inward curve of the russet-and-honey female’s flank, never presumptuous enough to touch, though the soft rush of her breath occasionally draws near enough to stir the gilt-edged fur. Her Neptune eyes are bright and watchful, her paws are quick and deft, and the set of her shoulders is square. She understands the ocean and she knows how to fish — these are things related to survival, and so she has not forgotten them.

The faint quailing of the younger female’s lithe musculature concerns Coelacanth, and it is her turn to take stock of her counterpart’s injuries — but the few abrasions she espies are minor, leading her to believe that the injuries concern muscle and bone. A low, piping whine of concern wheedles from her lips in an airy undertone as she stops alongside Cascada. “Where does it hurt?” she longs to ask, but the words die within her as they always do, and she merely offers a chaste kiss to the underside of the girl’s slender jaw if Cascada allows.

Once she’s still for a moment or two, things begin to settle. The little wolf is nearby. Even when she doesn’t touch her, she can feel still. She closes her eyes and takes a long breath before she continues. When her eyes open, she’s reminded of the bounty she and the other has found and she has to resist the urge to devour anything she can find to fill her stomach.

She quickly reminds herself who she’s really here for and putting them first has become rather easy. “Look,” she says and moves forward until she’s ankle deep in a tide pool. The gifts beneath all swim away from her but there isn’t far for them to go. A miracle, perhaps. A gracious gift nonetheless.

A memory, fragmented and fond, teases at the periphery of Coelacanth’s mind’s eye; she can’t quite grasp it or recall it in full, but a deep, gravelly voice — a male voice, and one deeply loved — is saying something about tide pools. Something about worlds. Her tufted ears flicker and she turns her head — for a moment, the voice seems so near! — but nobody is there and her muzzle dips beneath a weighty feeling of loss. It is Cascada’s voice that brings her back: “Look,” says the green-eyed girl, ankle-deep in a pool where silver-edged shadows flicker. Their attempts to flee are futile; Seelie knows it as much as her companion does.

Charmed by the benevolent wolf’s constant encouragement, Coelacanth moves forward fluidly, her gait hitching only when she puts weight or tries to turn on the left fore. Her eyes are greedy as they rove over the pools, and she tips her head to nibble excitedly at the wine-red tips of Cascada’s fur near her withers. Fishing! She knows how to fish. She tiptoes forward, crouching at the opposite end of the pool to peer inside, and when she judges the moment is right she plunges her muzzle below surface. The remaining fish swim directly toward Cascada, and Seelie comes up with a flopping, silvern prize held tightly in her jaws. It smacks her in the face with its tail and head, so she squints her eyes shut and bites down harder, enduring the slimy, wet onslaught until her prey is properly vanquished.

Cascada watches as the woman goes around to the other side of the tide pool. Brightening green eyes watch her fondly, and for a moment too long, that she gets splashed by a sudden onslaught of water. She misses the fish comically slap the other in the face several times as she glances down and misses her chance at several fish by her toes. They rush off back in the other direction after crowding around her and she, very sloppily, throws her head in the water.
 
She is not as swift or practiced in the art of fishing, even those trapped in a small hole in the sand. Cascada comes up empty-jawed and soaked with ocean water. Several times she snorts and blows, trying to rid her sinuses of water that burns farther back in her head than she thought possible. All the sudden movement causes pain in the rest of her body that she tries to still for but she gives in to several sudden sneezes.

When the fish finally stops bludgeoning her in the chops, Seelie circles back to Cascada’s side of the pool and drops the glimmering carcass proudly at her paws. The tiny Groenendael’s movements are eloquent; she noses the fish toward her friend with unfeigned eagerness and backs up a pace, Neptune eyes luminous with shy friendliness. There is more than one way to catch a fish, though, and she doesn’t want the green-eyed female to be discouraged. More interested in coaxing another smile from her tawny companion than eating, Seelie dips a paw into the water and lets it linger there, whuffing softly to catch Cascada’s eye. She beckons with a bashful quirk of her slender muzzle, indicating that the novice fisherwolf should do the same.

Once the other settles the fish in her grasp, she sets it down near her. Cascada looks at it for a moment before she lowers her nose and nudges it back and shaking her head once she draws back. “It is yours. You caught it,” she explains but the other has settled back and pulled her attention to mimic. Having gotten used to the silence from the first few interactions with her, she no longer questions it and simply does as she’s instructed. Carefully, she drops a paw into the water without too much disturbance, afraid to make too much of a ripple, and then glances up for further instruction.

Number 200 for you! ♥

When Cascada dips her paw into the pool, Seelie withdraws her own — and she steps a good distance away from the rim as though she fears the fish will see her and catch onto her plan. Making sure that the green-eyed girl is watching her closely, she shapes her catlike paw into a tight scoop and moves it like a scythe. To play out the successful catch, her Neptune eyes widen and she follows the imaginary fish’s arc until it lands somewhere in the distance with a thud. The atramentous sheepdog then turns her attention back towards the russet-and-cream female with a decisive nod. Then, she edges toward the lip of the pool again and abruptly thrusts her muzzle below surface. She feels the slippery fins and gills between her teeth but can’t get a grip — still, her lunge has the intended effect:

In a silvern rush, the fish scatter towards Cascada’s waiting paw.

It all happens quickly as the little wolf goes back to the other side of the large puddle and prepares herself, giving her the go ahead and she sucks in a breath. Cascada barely has time to respond as the fish rush in her direction and she tries to focus her attention down to scoop at the water. She does her best with inexperienced paws, thrusting her limb below the surface and scooping at the plethora of fish within her reach. Their slimy bodies touch her and she knocks a few around, even getting one above the water. In the splash of water, she does not have proper direction and as she tries to scoop what she has away but she isn’t center with the body and it ultimately flops and flails in the air and lands right back in with a plop, returning back to swimming away in a frightened frenzy.

Fishing is not an easy skill to master, and Coelacanth is careful not to laugh at Cascada in the wake of her failure. A low, encouraging whuff slips from her lips, but just in case the cinnamon-and-honey female remains disheartened by her botched attempts, the little Groenendael circles around the pool again to nose lovingly at the tapered curve of the younger female’s delicate jaw. When Cascada feels ready, Seelie encourages her to try again — and on the fourth try, the green-eyed girl successfully scoops a fish from the water and lands it neatly on the shore. Coelacanth bounces and dances with excitement, and the pull and pop! of abused flesh causes her to come up short with her breath caught in her throat.

After submitting to Cascada’s ministrations and allowing her wounds to be cleaned and treated, Seelie finds that the attractiveness of food has palled significantly. The wounds, cleared of purulent material and packed with chewed herbs, certainly smell better — and she enjoys being fussed over! — but the renewed pain steals away her appetite.

Abruptly, Coelacanth pricks her tufted ears at the sound of little paws in the underbrush and whines calling for her apple-eyed companion, and leaves her fish at Cascada’s paws, disappearing furtively into the underbrush before the children can draw near.