Wheeling Gull Isle racharra sees a ghost

He cuts like an arrow through the heavy toyon brush, down a sloping ravine until he comes to the sea cliffs. There he flattens on his belly and creeps forward, looking out towards- her.

She is going to drown.

The ocean catches her. It bears aloft its great draughts. She beats against them, long arms making for mainland. But the sun is in the water now, and the sea takes on the color of manganese.

Judah knows the meaning of this. The moon calls the tides into the bay, to bite the coast, and swallow the landbridge whole. He can see stars already in the eastern sky.

His gaze goes to her as an eider’s prey, the same look which had stalked her all evening. All his possession, all his pride, all his love was the isle. He wanted her gone. The same for any who would try to take it from him. She is the stronger, but it is by heart he knows the islet- every tree, every stone, every path from north to south and the hidden ones which cut through the red cedars.

Even now he feels something pulling at his bones to defend. It is all that is left of home. But she is going to drown.

“What’s in her mind?”
“She cannot swim, Jude.”
“She’ll never make it back.”
“There was a time when you couldn't swim, either.”

The boy’s face sets with new resolve. He lurches from the cliffside and skids down the ravine, striking the wild coast with three paws. One last gulp of salt air and he dives through the currents, cutting the water with vigorous strokes of leg. A breaker knocks him into her side. He grips her scruff and heaves her onto his back.

It is dark as the waves come forward, as he pulls her limp body upon the shore. Moonlight glitters over her soaking pelt.

“What now?” Judah hisses.

He dreads the answer.