Wheeling Gull Isle the voice of rage and ruin

The sound of the storm does not end, but rather, becomes muted the further she delved between the stones. There is a chasm wide enough for her, and she's slept here for days previous, although the soil is damp and the air within made humid by the heat of summer. Not even the raging of the world outside could save her from the moist sensation found here; though with the storm going full-tilt outside, it was a wonder the place hadn't been washed out yet.

As Parthenos plucked her way to the back of the stone circle - hiding herself in the wet sand beneath an overhang of barnacled rock - she almost missed the approach of the stranger. Surely she would not have heard him. And being as tired as she was, having worked so tirelessly to save as many as she did, Parthenos was mentally drifting away from her own senses. The sea could have easily risen up to drown her here and she probably would've slept through it into death.

But he calls out - this stranger - and while at first she doesn't respond it is because she doesn't expect a wolf to be there, standing among the stones with her. She turns anyways, feeling the distinct lack of rushing air when his body blocks the entrance. Upon spotting him she gasps and pins her ears, backing up instinctively against the curve of the stone wall behind her. Is this one of the castaways? Must be. But what do they want?