Wheeling Gull Isle not all girls are made of sugar and spice and all things nice

it does not take long for someone to arrive. the other young woman is draped in a coat of dark chocolate brown with cream markings on her face and sides and her guard hairs bristled as she stalks up to her. for a moment, prii is taken aback. it startles her only because even as an apprentice atlanian ...she is used to being greeted in a much different manner. but, this isn't nootka sound, her previously held position means nothing here. ...a position, she reminds herself, even as atlan's waters lap against her paws that she ran away from. priixu adjusts her posture to one of neutrality but respectful nonetheless as the question is posed.

"my father. his name is axolotl corten...he told me of this place and i ...my curiosity got the better of me." axolotl's stories of adventure, even though during his brief time here there'd been civil unrest among the ranks — had sounded grand. ...and prii was attempting to run away from a life she hadn't chose. daughter of the sea or not ...it didn't seem fair to her that she couldn't make her own path. that she had to take up the mantel of atlanian like her father before her. "i'm priixu, by the way. priixu corten. but uh, i like 'prii' better." in case it mattered, she wasn't sure if it did or not. if she was turned away she supposed then, no, it wouldn't much matter. why did her tongue feel like lead and insist on twisting around words she knew she could speak?