The Sentinels sing a song of sixpence

There was trouble on another island. Moorhen had stepped up to follow in Coelacanth's steps, but at the last moment, had remained behind. But days had passed, and at long last, she'd abandoned the refuge of Wheeling Gull Isle. Her paws had carried her along the coast, skirting wide around the other coastal packs to find her way again to the scorched stand of trees.

She stopped there for a moment, breathing in the aged scent of fire. She was always taken back to some far-off place; one that she could not quite remember even in her deepest sleep.

With one last look around, she bid farewell to the coast, and turned to travel inland instead.

This forest is sad and burned, but close enough to the coast that he doesn't mind taking a small detour. It kind of reminds him of home, and that makes him feel homesick for a moment, before he realizes just why he left. It wasn't right for him. This place probably isn't right for him, either.

The brown she-wolf blends in pretty well, and he doesn't spot her until he nearly runs into her. Startled, he backs up quickly, brown eyes wide and flashing with surprise. His fur bristles out so far that he looks like he's twice his size, big and fluffy.

Snarling, he steps into the shadows, staring out at her with a wary gaze. Who are you? he demands, forgetting that he's not in the safety of his old home but instead in a place he's never been.

Moorhen was bristling back at once, bloodred eyes narrowing at the stranger who greeted her so rudely. "Pul mora di, kuktryne," she snapped back, her shock at being accosted so causing her to resort to foul language. There'd been no traces of another's claim, so she could only feel justified in her wanderings, and slighted by the male who had addressed her so rudely.

Sidestepping, she attempted to go around him and continue on her way, not interested in getting to know the other; nor was she intimidated by his size or aggression, having seen herself through many scraps in the past. "Rude ass!" she added, realizing he likely wouldn't have understood her earlier insults. She didn't know as many swear words in the common tongue, so she improvised.

She shouted gibberish at him, which was fine, as long as she was okay with hearing gibberish back. (Father would kill him if he knew that Drac called it that!) At her response in English, he yelled, Vaffanculo, stupida puttana! and flashed his teeth at her. There was no reason to be so rude! He was just passing by after all, and she'd startled him.

He slunk further into the bushes and looked through the leaves with baleful amber eyes. Una maledizione su te e tutta la tua famiglia, he whispered, wondering if the evil spirits could hear him all the way out here, so far from home.

Not understanding what the other wolf said (she was accustomed to this) and being satisfied that she'd scared him off, Moorhen continued on her way with a little more spring in her step. She'd been a little intimidated, thinking about starting off on her own all over again, but it seemed as though she'd lost little of her bite during her time on the island.

Moving inland once more, her thoughts turned to old friends she might visit - and one or two newer ones as well.