Wheeling Gull Isle you're so sweet, but i like it rough

Coelacanth arrived shortly after her mate, and she was not alone. The six-month-old Seelholms had contracted a serious case of the zoomies and buzzed busily at her feathered heels, nipping and gnawing boisterously at each other. Even shy Thresher threw in a few muzzle-pokes and merrily tip-tapped her paws in response to her littermates’ antics. They spilled into the tableau, lapping and bubbling at Moorhen and Stockholm’s paws with effusive delight before politely taking their game elsewhere. They hadn’t really gotten to know Blossom, who’d disappeared shortly after the storm. Seelie drew herself up to her full height (which still left her dwarfed in size by her wild comrades) and watched Blossom, not unkindly, but not with the desperate hope of yesteryear. If he wanted to stay, he would — and if he didn’t, he wouldn’t. The pack depended on her for strength; she would endure.