Wheeling Gull Isle i don't do cutesie symbols.

It was a little strange for Fig, this whole nomadic existence that he found himself living. It was one thing to live this way when it had just been him, on the road with no real goal or destination. Now he had companions, and having companions brought out the instincts that guided him as a pack wolf. He felt the driving need to keep them safe, protect them, protect their space. But they had no territory they called their own, and so no borders to patrol or keep fresh. He felt like he lived in limbo and he wasn't too sure he was a fan.

Still, he did the best he could. When the trio setup camp on the island, Fig had set out to check out their space. It wasn't technically theirs, but he still needed to know that it didn't belong to anything that posed any threat to them. He made his way along the shoreline, inspecting a rock here, an abandoned shell there, finding nothing to cause any alarm until a peculiar scent stole his attention and he paused. It smelled strange, and not in a pleasant way, but he couldn't place it. Frowning, he pressed forward, stepping lightly in the cold, wet sand around the tall stones that jutted out from the earth randomly across the beach.

Soon, the caldera and its new inhabitants were out of sight and out of mind. Caracal and @Killdeer headed north for no reason in particular, following Big Salmon Lake's runoff until hitting a fork in a foggy (and very likely haunted) forest. After trying to spook his companion, they continued following the river north through the flat lands. Caracal led Killdeer toward some woods clustered between ridge lines ahead. He recognized them from his road trip to Sapphique.

"Hey, the beach is on the other side of those woods," Caracal informed Killer, slapping at his shoulder. What kind of teenage boy would he be if he didn't add, "Last one there's a moldy ballsack!"

He couldn't be sure if Killdeer kept up with him at all. Caracal plunged into Ravensblood Forest, the ambiance of the place reminding him of Phantom Hollow. Soon he broke from the trees on its far side and galloped across a plain of grass that gradually gave way to dunes. He stuck close to the river, hooking a slight right when he reached the delta. Sapphique was that way, he knew.

But directly across from him, he saw an island he hadn't noticed before. Motionless and panting, Caracal muttered, "Holy shit. Killer, dude, you seeing this?"

Try as he might to escape the label "moldy ballsack," Killdeer was built for strength, not speed. Or at least he would be when he grew out of this chubby phase. Caracal was much swifter, and though Killdeer was no quitter, the younger boy was quickly left in the dust.

He was just pulling up, also panting, in time to catch his friend's call out to him. His gaze followed the line of sight and—

Oh, man. What is that? 

Killdeer had been under the impression that once the ocean got going, it just didn't stop. No more land. Donezo. But that certainly was land, and he peered at it in the manner of a pirate spying an isle previously unseen.

I wonder how you get there, he remarked. He felt a little uneasy that Caracal would suggest they swim. He wasn't that good of a swimmer; he could do ponds and the shallows of lakes, but this? Nuh-uh, no way.

The further Fig went, the stronger and more awful the scent became. He wrinkled his nose in displeasure as he rounded the foot of a particularly large boulder and paused as he was momentarily distracted by the sound of very faint voices on the wind. They were barely discernable over the roll of the tide, but Fig was certain he'd heard them, even though he could no longer. He turned his gaze out over the water and squinted shrewdly, scanning the opposite shore. Whatever he sought had the distinct scent of death upon it, so it was less of a concern than whatever other creature he'd picked up on. The dead could not hurt him. The living might.

With a brief glance back the direction he'd been heading, he turned and headed towards the water with ears cupped forward at attention. He paused once his toes reached the surf and frowned at the mainland, which was not close but apparently just close enough to make this work. His head canted as he listened, but the only sound he heard was the tide and the gulls. Fig was still for a moment, internally debating what he ought to do. He could ignore it and go back to hunting down the terrible smell. Or, he could go the route he ended up taking, which was to tilt his head back and let out a low, questioning howl to whomever the voices had belonged.

"Dunno," Caracal replied without missing a beat. "How's it floating like that? Why doesn't it sink?" he added. He gave Killdeer a dubious look, then returned his gaze to the island, squinting suspiciously.

He thought he saw movement on the far shore, just a black speck. Without looking away, he began to flail his forelegs at Killdeer, smacking any part of him within range. "Look, look, do you see that?" he asked. Now he grabbed onto his nephew's shoulder and shook him. "Do you—"

A soft, melodious howl rose into the air. Caracal squinted at the distant figure and realized it was a wolf with his head thrown back. "No shit! Wow!" he murmured, looking over at Killdeer with new appreciation for his earlier inquiry.

"How," he howled in return, "the heck did you get out there? P.S. I'm Caracal!"

I do, I do— He bounced with Caracal, seeing the figure on the distant shore. How could that be? And wolves, to boot! He would have thought that something so far away would be something beyond their species, but. . .

"I'M KILDEER!!!" he added to the howl, and then pranced away, kicking up sand.

Oh, man, how do we get there?! Kildeer asked. He galloped toward the surf and ventured in, heading up to his chest before turning about, his lower half submerged. It felt good, cool, with a current against his body.

Maybe they could swim. . . He looked toward the distant landmass, gauging— No. No way. Crazy.

Fig waited for a response, squinting across at the mainland in search of whoever it was he was attempting to converse with. It wasn't until the pair began bouncing and running about with excitement that he spotted them, their movement drawing his attention. He could discern nothing about them from his vantage, but their responding voices told him one fact immediately--they were wolves.

The Redhawk cocked his head, listening. A slow smile unfurled across his muzzle, then froze as his brows shot high. Caracal and Killdeer? Fig had never met them, but he'd learned about his siblings and nephew from @Fennec during their travels (because I can't imagine them not having that conversation at some point). Were these his kin? He took a moment to ponder the likelihood of two wolves with the same names as his little brother and nephew traveling together before he lifted his head and called back with a single question.

"Redhawk?"

When the stranger howled back a single word, Caracal threw another look at Killdeer, this one a little bewildered. How did this random guy know their family name? "Yeah, how'd you know?" he called.

Killdeer waded into the water up to his chest, so of course Caracal bounded after him, soaking the both of them with his splashing. He eyed the span of seawater between here and the strip of beach where the dark speck of a wolf stood.

"We gotta get out there," he declared. "Last one there's a hairy nipple!" he challenged right before breaching forward like a strange little porpoise and starting to doggy paddle toward the island.

Ahhhhh, boy.

He watched Caracal go into the water and froze, heart starting to beat much faster.

What are you, a pussy? his subconscious shrieked.

Killdeer moved forward, slowly, as if each paw was weighed down by lead. Traveled into the current—kicking—waves against his chest—

Oh, man, he called out, feeling his throat start to get wet. I mean, can we swim there? I'm not that—

A wave came over his head, suddenly, and he wrenched it up, sputtering, golden eyes wide as saucers.

CAL—

Fig felt excitement bud in his heart when one confirmed his suspicions. They were Redhawks. His brother and his nephew. His nephew! He'd never had one of those before! The odd smell forgotten for now, Fig paced closer to the water, watching the pair as they danced along the opposite shore. He turned to head back up the coast, lifting his muzzle to call to them again when he paused, fear jolting him when they suddenly charged straight into the water.

"No, to the West! There are shallows you can cross!" he called back, hoping they would hear him over the waves they were now battling against.

Caracal kicked his legs and glided through the water almost effortlessly… until a swell approached and clobbered him over the head. The force of it plunged him underwater, spinning his lithe body until he didn’t know which way was up. Somehow, he managed to paddle back to the surface with a gasp, just in time to hear Killdeer’s screech as the wave hit him too.

Aw, fuck, the teenager blurted, spitting saltwater out of his mouth as he swam toward his companion flailing, wide-eyed, in the water. I gotcha, he said right before he closed his teeth around Killer’s soaking scruff. Just… hang on, he thought as Caracal then tried to figure out how the hell to drag his nephew’s fat ass to safety.

His waterlogged ears pricked at the distant instructions to go west. Grunting, Caracal spun in the water, still holding tightly to Killer’s fur. Although the saltwater helped with buoyancy, he realized he wasn’t going to be able to drag him very far. Reluctantly, Caracal let go.

Swim this way, he said, sticking very close to Killdeer as he motioned westward. I’m right beside you. Come on, before another wave wipes us out. He gave his nephew a meaningful look, then began paddling again, parallel to the shore off to their left.

It was only a few minutes before his little red toes felt the ocean floor. And then, rather abruptly, he could stand, the water only reaching halfway up his legs. It perplexed Caracal, but he wasn’t going to look at it too closely. His muscles ticked as he turned, ankles sloshing, to make sure Killdeer also climbed onto the concealed sandbar.

The way Killdeer was floundering, it was a miracle he didn't drag them both under. He missed the hollered instructions, head submerged; even when he came up for air, all he heard was a muffled din, and perhaps the sputtered words of his companion.

But he kicked, legs churning up water, and before he could even comprehend what had happened, he was resting upon terra firma once more.

There was. . .a shallow bit, here. He could see it, ever so faintly beneath the surface, stretching out toward the other shore.

You ass, Killer swore, blinking the water from his eyes as he glowered at Caracal. Did you know that was there?

Huffing, and without waiting for an answer, he marched forward, jaw set stubbornly, pointed toward the island.

I hope it’s cool to fade this for us, since it’s gettin’ old. Let me know if I need to change anything. :D

Caracal coughed a laugh at Killdeer’s epithet. Nah, dude, I had no idea. I have no idea what it even is… He marveled at the sunken mound of sand beneath their feet.

His pal huffed and began marching toward the island. Caracal sloshed after him, with a good-natured nip to Killdeer’s hip before he sidled to walk beside him, wet shoulders bumping.

As they came closer to the isle’s sandy shore, Caracal exclaimed, Dude, this is awesome! Reminds me of Skipjack. Didn’t he tell us a riddle about islands? And pirates? Something about treasure…? Anyway, the boy laughed, unaware that they would find hidden treasure indeed: a fistful of Redhawks.