Wheeling Gull Isle the last true mouthpiece

It was odd to mark the same pathways she'd once run and see the Island in a bloom. Spring had spring, and it was different here than the mainland. Hemlock parted from her children briefly to roam around. She almost felt like organizing something, starting a cache, just...anything but then she wasn't entirely sure. She still had the nagging fog from her previous night's sleep and the faintest smell of wild hemlock growing. She gave a low sigh and shook her coat out again; she'd even woken with her fur in haphazard swatches as if someone had worked her over. 

The day's sun was just beginning to peek and Hemlock sniffed around the edges where the sand gave way to actual sod and ground. She had to be sure that there wasn't any hemlock lurking around lest the children somehow get ahold of it. 

The dark girl wandered aimlessly, trying to ignore that writhing pit of anxiety she called a stomach. The Shadow had gone to the mainland for a time, leaving her lamb behind her with the rest of the flock. It burned her, yes, to be abandoned again so soon after being found, but the Aralez had made clear her intentions to return to Moorhen and Szymon.

She was looking for her uncle now, wanting to get reacquainted after so long being apart - but the bright, ruddy woman was too interesting to pass by, and Moorhen stopped to stare in plain sight of the other, tail waving uncertainly against her hocks.

 

So far she hasn't seen much - at least not much that she could use. Most of the seaweed she could find on their shores too but she was hoping to collect something better. When she caught sight of another wolf she bristled a bit but tried not to be too hostile. She didn't know her name but she was fairly sure they were close with Coelacanth. "Hello." Hemlock offered quietly, giving a nod of her head to invite the other closer if she wanted to.