Wheeling Gull Isle aye mere humsafar

نئی

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he wasn't of much use to anyone, just yet. well--not in his view, anyway. he had stocked the caches with fish, and patrolled the edges of the beach. but beyond that, he felt more than a little useless. his old life had kept him busy with task after task, some more dangerous than others. this lazy existence on undersea was different from anything he had ever known.

rehan kicked a shell around the beach, feeling adrift. he gave it a hard punt and it shattered into several pieces against a nearby rock; he scowled for a moment, staring the ruin down, before moving on with a huff. he stepped through the surf, avoiding the pinch of crabs, feeling the icy sea breeze batter his thin pelt.

winter was on its way. would the island suffer its ill effects, or was it safe from the harsh winds and blankets of snow that the mainland endured? if the coywolf stuck around, he would know for sure. the problem was was that he was unsure of his future here. of his future anywhere.

losing zooni had cut his ties to the world. he was a ghost, belonging nowhere.

@Driftwood

I feel like maybe this got more disjointed as I went on, as it's been an unusually long and trying day and I'm feeling the need to head back to bed myself (heh)... might give it another editing pass later, but hopefully it's not too terrible and spacey overall.  :o  Sorry if it is though and you're struggling to suffer through it, however, mreheh. :X Feel more than free to whap me with a newspaper or some seashell shards and demand clarification where need be!
And thanks for starting!  ;)  <3

Driftwood was a little extra on-edge of late. He'd missed pretty much all of the biggest drama that had gone down in the pack lately, with this "Aditya" having threatened his most favorite leaders here on the island... and now Drift, too, was left feeling somewhat adrift and useless. He hadn't been here when he had been most needed, he felt: and while he was striving now to keep a much closer eye on everything, there was not only a certain impossibility to that—seeing as he could not physically be everywhere and observing everything all at once, after all—there was also an associated guilt. He'd been dilly-dallying elsewhere while his pack—while the wonderful and lovely and indescribable Seelie, of all people!—had been in mortal peril. And what ever would her innocent pups have done, too, on top of that, if the worst and hardest things for him to ever imagine happening had in fact happened?! Driftwood shuddered to even think of it. Just the notion of how close the whole pack may have come to such utter disaster left his innards turned to jelly. He did not know how he could have possibly foreseen the attack; he only knew that nonetheless he felt like he should have been able to, and could not help but feel a heavy dose of hefty self-blame in the matter.

He wasn't sleeping very well, and napped in restless fits and starts, tending to wander the beaches of Wheeling Gull Isle with hollow eyes in-between. Such was his preoccupation today. His feet were not quite wandering in a straight or steady line, though as much or more due to his inner turmoil than simply to lack of sleep. Nonetheless he did have to blink the preoccupied and slightly-sleepy haze from his eyes before he could identify the figure on the otherwise empty beach as a youngish fellow packmate, fairly new but seeming somewhere around his own age. He jerked a little, taken aback and probably a little more instinctually aghast than he really ought to be as he saw the figure viciously kick a small seashell against a convenient nearby rock. Although really, part of that instinctive reaction of Driftwood's was because for just a moment, he had thought the little white shards that went flying everywhere had been from a piece of ocean-smoothed seaglass... Regardless, he lurched forward as he called, Whoa, hey, careful there Tauhou!

He wasn't quite certain the guy had heard him, but trotted forth at a somewhat hasty pace regardless. He knew intellectually it was too late to save the little seashell, of course—and really, with the dozens Driftwood had collected by now, and the numerous ones that had been handed off to decorate the puppies' birthing den, Seelie really didn't need this one on any level—but still he couldn't quite help himself as he slowed to give the splintered remains of the little shell a quick nosing over, ascertaining for himself that it was indeed an ex-seashell. Driftwood whuffed out his breath in thought to himself as he raised his head again to regard his fellow wolf with his own sandy-brown brow slightly furrowed. He took in the almost mangy condition of the other's fur with a quick glance, and with another quick intake of breath said, Hey there. ...Not feeling all that ready for winter, myself, and it looks like maybe you aren't quite either...? Driftwood cocked his head at the other some short distance away, though he didn't know if this was what was actually at the root of whatever it was the other was feeling that left him with such a need to so violently vent his feelings on innocent seashells. Though in Driftwood's quite biased opinion the least he could do really was to vent his spleen on some of these infernal crabs that always seemed to be everywhere, at least, if he was going to have a fit of temper, rather than perfectly good shells that maybe someone else might have liked or could use somehow or other. But oh well.