Wheeling Gull Isle sprucing up the place

The little sheepdog’s eyes darted immediately to the fish Moorhen spat into the sand. She wasn’t hungry — stress tended to have an adverse effect on her appetite — but when presented with free food, especially in the form of a gift, she always accepted. Nosing gently at her lamb’s jaw and nibbling at the thicker fur that bordered her cheek, the Aralez thanked her silently for her support and fell to the meal at once. She sniffed and licked at it reverently before tucking in, and her Neptune eyes sought Moorhen’s mahogany ones often, a questioning look ghosting across her delicate features with tender concern. A soft, fluting whine of query accompanied the look of concern, offering an invitation to proceed, and the quizzical tilt of her head marked her unspoken question with a flourish of a question mark.