Wheeling Gull Isle sorrowing, sighing, breathing, dying

Set for a day or so after the worst of the storm - tagging @Stockholm for visibility

Moorhen and @Radcliffe had taken shelter further inland for the worst of the storm, but today, they ventured to the sandbar to find it in a passable state. If the tide had not been as low as it was, they would have been out of luck, but Moorhen was able to help her young charge across, and now they stood on the island that she'd long dreaded returning to - only to find that Thresher was back among them!

Moorhen's tail wagged furiously as she took in the girl's scent. She was angry beyond all belief, but her relief over the girl's return was tenfold that of her more negative feelings. With a happy, almost drunken sway to her steps, she ventured further into the island and tipped back her head, calling out for @Coelacanth to come and meet her newest lamb.

Radcliffe had remained tucked up beside Moorhen, almost the whole way through the storm. His leg still hurt, throbbing in pain every now and then which earned a whimper from him. Once they had left the shelter he stuck right by her the whole way, sometimes even trying to keep up and use her as a shadow over him. Trotting under her, using her as protection. 

Till they arrived. He was afraid of this new place, new wolves. With his tail tucked under himself, Radcliffe stayed under her as if seeking more protection. Trying to at least keep up to do so.

Mix mentioned that this post is marked JOINING but is also ALL WELCOME. ♥ I would appreciate one more round of just these three before anybody else joins, though!

Tendrils of sunlight had finally broken through the heavy cloud cover that had been threatening the coast for weeks, but the seawolves couldn’t see it; they were huddled together in the deepest recesses of the Labyrinth, finding sanctuary in stone. Only when a joyous cry sundered the rainsong did Coelacanth emerge, moving through the twisting, turning corridors like a ghost. She didn’t issue any orders to wait or stay, so if the other seawolves wished to emerge and assess the damage that had been done to their home, they were free to do so. “Lamb,” she breathed when she was near enough to be heard, her seabright eyes falling warmly upon Moorhen. For a moment, the banded female was all Seelie could see and little Radcliffe went utterly unnoticed — she pressed her body against the wayfaring Agarwaen’s and fussed over her lovingly — and then she spotted the small, pale boy who huddled beneath her.

First things first: “Treasure home, safe,” she stated plainly, though it would likely be obvious to the boneweary raven. That was the good news. The bad? “Storm — and sea — ” she fumbled, “many loss.” It pained her to recite the names, but out of love and respect, she did: “Rehan. Blossom. Hemlock. Reed. Droman. F-Fern. Mur.” Her eyes were doleful as they regarded the loyal guardian, but there was a thread of steely strength there, too. This time, Coelacanth was determined that they focus on the living and the present, and rebuild. She did not deify the sea as some others might; it would to take the pack’s collective effort to move forward from this tragedy. A spasm of pain crossed her face, but she spoke her final word on the matter: “Protect pack.”

The newly reinstated Aralez rarely spoke to the raven so formally, but, “Moorhen Cairn,” she breathed hesitantly, floating an idea that she hadn’t yet discussed with Komodo or Stockholm. Undersea had been fashioned around the idea of a Council — but since its founding, the four positions had never been filled at the same time. Faeryn’s return had been good for the pack, but the Groenendael and the Gampr were loathe to pressure her with the responsibilities of leadership directly upon her return. Komodo had been a stalwart supporter of the pack since its inception, but in the wake of `Io’s mysterious absence, she was reluctant to let the yoke of power ride so heavy on his shoulders (especially with the breeding season right around the bend).

“Lead Undersea, with me? With Stockholm? Agarwaen no more, Akhlut be?” she asked haltingly, her tone entreating as she tenderly sought the fierce mahogany gaze. “Akhlut,” she whispered in a silky susurrus as though enchanted, reciting the words as clearly as she could, “whale become wolf — great hunter. Like you, my lamb.”

She had not forgotten the boy’s comfort, but this impetuousness of hers would not be turned away or quieted. Her soft blue eyes turned away from Moorhen’s long enough to apologetically look upon the young boy who clung like a burr to Shadow’s girl. “Good boy,” she praised him softly, conducting a clumsy two-way interview as she spoke then to him: “Hurt? Hunger?” He looked to be a little bit of both.

It worried her to hear about so many gone missing - especially Fern and Mur, who were still so young - but Moorhen was relieved enough by Thresher's return and by her own that she was able to push this aside and say, Some lost, some found, in a somewhat rallying tone. New lamb, she added, gesturing to Radcliffe. Redcliff.

She might've gone on to ask after the rest of the family, but it seemed that Coelacanth had a question of her own. Moorhen gaped at her for a moment, bewildered by the question. She had failed her mission, but Coelacanth wanted to press more responsibility upon her? The very idea made her shake in her proverbial boots, but this was her Aralez - Moorhen could not deny her. I will be Akhlut, she agreed with a firm nod, her wide eyes betraying her surprise over this development. But their attention was soon turned back to the boy, who Moorhen remembered she was worried about.

Hurt foot, she fussily agreed, encouraging the boy to show Coelacanth his paw.

Radcliffe remained under the other, the adult that had found him. Then the other adult noticed him and he retreated back slightly. Lamb? Was he a lamb? He thought he was a pup, yet he did not speak up on that. Instead he remained quiet. These names made no sense to him. Akhlut? Undersea? 

Radcliffe peeked out slightly to lift up his injured paw for a better look. It throbbed at the movement. It made him flinch slightly at the motion. "H-Hurt...hurt..."

Coelacanth tended to take her seawolves’ love and respect for granted. It wasn’t that she ever forgot how lucky she was, or that she didn’t appreciate their loyalty — it was just that when she offered a promotion or issued a command, she assumed it would be carried out without an excess of prompting or coaxing on her behalf. That said, she found that her pulse sped up considerably as she awaited Moorhen’s reply, a thousand needles of anxiety threatening the bubble of hope that stirred tenuously within her heart. When at last the banded raven acquiesced, “I will be Akhlut,” with a steadfast nod, Seelie drew in a slow, deep breath and her body started to move again.

Ever since Maegi had overdosed on the poppies, Seelie, Hemlock, and @Reed had kept a close eye on the herbstores — and the sheepdog was loathe to dose such a young puppy with the addictive substance. “Redcliff,” she whispered, tipping her head at the note of familiarity. She’d heard a similar name somewhere before, but where? “Redcliff, Redcliff,” she breathed, musingly, and then the lightbulb went on: “Radcliffe?” she asked him, crouching down in front of the boy with wide eyes. “Radcliffe know Sunny? Aliac, Pema, Afiana, Faye? De…Dem…Dem — ” Yeah, there was no way she was going to remember a name like Desdemona on the first try.

“Morningside? Radcliffe know Morningside?” the Aralez asked, beginning to lick soothingly at his wounded paw. There was a wide abrasion where the lateral aspect of the fifth digital pad had scuffed against the stone, but it was already healing well. The nail, too, was intact. The issue, she thought, was within — but she didn’t want to test for broken bones without @Komodo’s help. He would perhaps be able to lull the boy into a trance without the use of materia medica and help her palpate the injured paw.

"Redcliff," Moorhen corrected under her breath, almost certain that this was the name the boy had given her. It was the only thing that made sense - Rad was not a word, after all. Who'd ever heard of a rad cliff? But she knew that poor Coelacanth often had trouble with names and words, and she did not want to draw too much attention to her poor elocution, since Moorhen hated when it happened to her.

Besides, her mind was still spinning around the idea of Akhlut.

She remembered - or thought she remembered - that Doe had once been called Akhlut.

Radcliffe tipped his head a bit as the other repeated his name over and over. And he understood why. She knew him. And not only him, but the others. At the mention of the others, his jaw trembled. The faces he left behind. Sunny, Mother...then she dropped the name Morningside. And it all came back.

And he wailed. Covering his face with his paws. Wailing about the fire, and his father. His father, who would never return.

Whatever Seelie had been expecting, it wasn’t this. Anxiously (and apologetically, her cerulean eyes tilting beseechingly up at Moorhen) she bathed the boy’s face, tasting the bitter salt of his tears upon her tongue. She had no idea whose boy this was — she only knew that he wasn’t one of Catori’s children. “Know Sunny,” she breathed to him, trying to catch his eye. “Redcliff welcome ever Undersea — but Eelie…Leejeom…” The pack name was too new for the Aralez to offer it with any semblance of fluency, but she tried to correct her error and reassure the puppy at the same time: “We fix first,” she said firmly, brushing her whiskers against his uninjured toes, “and then, we find Sunny.” Her tone turned brisk and decisive then, as she hopped to her paws and gently attempted to guide the pack’s newest guppy further inland.

Redcliff! Moorhen cried, concerned as her young friend began to wail. She shot Coelacanth a startled and slightly accusing glance - You made him cry! - before rushing in to try and soothe him with rough kisses and nuzzles. Together, the two shewolves worked to shepherd the boy off the beach. Moorhen wanted him someplace quiet and calm while he recovered, and while she thought about what Coelacanth had said about the Morningside wolves.

It was hard to believe this boy was from the same place as Aditya. Moorhen wondered if he had the same madness, and began to worry that he did. Is he sick? she asked the Aralez, keeping her voice low to hopefully keep Redcliff from overhearing. Unfortunately, they were still very close. Head sick?

Radcliffe cried but his cries were muffled as both of the wolves near him nuzzled and lick assuringly at him. It helped somewhat to quiet him as he sniffled while he was moved to a more secure and quiet location. He heard them, but he didn't get exactly what they meant by 'head sick'.

“Is sad,” Coelacanth breathed quietly, shaking her head with grave solemnity. “Heart sick. Soul sick. Moorhen, come — help hold.” She lay upon the ground, Radcliffe’s paws tangled amongst the fur of her flank, and nodded at the empty space at his back. Moorhen would be familiar with the ouroboros position the Aralez favored — surrounding whatever poor creature from both sides with love and affection. Once the banded raven was in place, the Aralez began to check Radcliffe’s paw for broken bones — her touch was featherlight as she mouthed at the delicate framework of his wrist and toes, and she judged him whole, if not completely sound.

“Strong, good boy,” she praised him, bathing his face. She understood on some deep, instinctual level that this was Moorhen’s lamb and therefore was slightly less demonstrative than she might normally have been, allowing the newly titled Akhlut the right to drive her away if she wasn’t happy about Seelie’s closeness.

Although she did feel possessive over the boy - he'd been all she'd found on her desperate search for Thresher, after all - Moorhen didn't mind Coelacanth's nearness as long as she was not making him cry. She was a bit out of her depth when it came to soothing youngsters, having far more experience riling them up and then leaving their mother to calm them down again right before bed. So she simply follows the example set by her Aralez and brackets the boy with her own body against his back.

"Good boy," she agrees, straining to bathe his face in kisses before pillowing her head over his flank. Now, finally, she felt as though she could rest.

Radcliffe couldn't help being so upset by it all. But then, as he was moved slightly he found himself in a surprisingly comforting position. Between two who cared for him, showered him with a paternal love. Rad winced as his paw was checked over, a quiet whimper. Yet he did not cry. He felt safe, as if a newborn pup once more. Settled in the warm fur of mother. He was praised for being good, for being strong.

Over time, he slowly closed his eyes. Feeling safe and warm, cozy even. Rad let out a large yawn, his jaws splitting apart before closing and resting on his good forepaw, using whatever furred hide he could get his head on to rest upon. Then, slowly he drifted off as he felt Moorhen rest as well.