Wheeling Gull Isle prayer to the sea

A new presence lurks on the island; unfamiliar shifting of shadows, the disruption of a foreign soul upon sands familiarized by a family Mhairi may never truly be part of. That was never their intention. The island suits the siren; the wolves that already inhabit it are none of their concern, beyond their continued tolerance of Mhairi's presence. The leader, the pretty wolf who'd led them here in spite of their continued silence, is the only wolf they feel any inclination to interact with — if only to ensure that they remain welcome. The ancient magicks the siren practices are best called upon in solitude. This in mind, Mhairi lurks at the outskirts, avoiding their packmates in favor of studying the shoreline. Soon they'll need to pick a place to begin their rituals, somewhere away from prying eyes.

She was much happier now that the storm had subsided. It was much calmer these days, with light flurries or drizzle. Not the sun-kissed warmth of spring quite yet, but it would come. Maegi was just happy to venture outside without facing the blinding snow and cutting winds.

The wraith headed down from her den to the beach, intent on finding shellfish to snack upon. She was making a beeline toward the rocks where they resided when a pale figure caught her eye. Examining the shoreline, lurking in the shadows. If the wolf was any darker, Maegi might have missed her entirely.

She gave a gentle chuff, jogging toward the stranger with little clumps of wet sand scattering in her wake. A young woman, small and silver, but with a solid build that belied physical strength. She gave her a smile, albeit a watery one, as she thought of Miseria.

A few seasons older than her youngest daughter. . .but still reminiscent. O Jaes, when would the pain end? 

Hello, she greeted, pushing past the grief that burned in her chest. You must be new here. I'm Maegi.