Wheeling Gull Isle when we're young we set our hearts upon some beautiful idea

The horse was too healthy for the three of them to take down, but with a whisk of her feathered tail the Aralez made it plain that she was not out for blood. At last, accosted by not one but three pairs of darting paws and snapping jaws, the horse wheeled and beat a swift retreat.

Buoyed by their victory, the sheepdog offered her first congratulatory kiss to her black-masked packmate. Berry-stained tongue enthusiastically laved the slim, tapered muzzle just before her cold, wet nose made an invisible stamp upon `Io’s cheek. Then she turned to Rokig, and her tufted ears perked in surprise even as her body wriggled with delight. “Rokig,” she whispered, crossing the distance to kiss him, too. She was only slightly more reserved with him than she’d been with the island’s guardian; a fraction of hesitation preceded her attempt to smooth her sticky-sweet tongue along the underside of his jaw. If he allowed, she would nuzzle at his cheek in turn with her nose.

Stepping back with a dancer’s grace, she swept her fox-fine muzzle toward the tilled earth. “See?” she said in lieu of a verbal greeting, pride dancing within her Neptune eyes. `Io, she was certain, had probably already seen her garden on the other side of the island. The sleek she-wolf seemed to patrol tirelessly, when she was not tethered to Poppy’s legacy. Coelacanth had been taking turns with the babies, too, but her body — despite the telltale changes of her body — was not yet producing milk for them. Most importantly, she felt as if caring for the children helped soothe some of the ceaseless ache she knew `Io felt for her missing children, Nunataq and Marten.

Glancing between Rokig and `Io now, Seelie wondered: “Rokig — come to say? Stay?”