Wheeling Gull Isle delicate

The sky was dark when she left, crossing the beaches as she used to do in her previous time on the island - flurries of snow swirled up and danced on the wind, dusting her pelt in white as she drifted on the sand. Faeryn had plenty on her mind, but she left it unspoken, gaze wandering across the horizon.

The stars were invisible tonight.

Clouds shadowed the curtain above, masking the glow of the moon and twinkle of the stars in an ashen haze - it was relatively silent, other than the hiss and slosh of the ocean's waves. Quiet, just how she liked it.

Although some had been lost during the storm, others had been returned to then. Mou was back, and Faeryn - and it was the latter she saw upon the beach that night, gazing up at the sky. Moorhen approached with a quiet chuff of greeting, not sure what sort of reception she should expect. She and Faeryn had never been close, but then, Moorhen had never been close with any but Coelacanth, Stockholm, and their brood.

Peace be, she offered as she neared, eyeing the spot beside the shewolf with half a mind to take a seat there - but it seemed too presumptuous, so she waited.