Wheeling Gull Isle the lonely sea and the sky

As the other’s head begins to shake, the rest of her body follows, and she takes a step back to avoid any further wetness. The rain does enough to keep her fur soaked to the skin, struggling to maintain her body temperature. If she could get off the island, she would, but she finds herself rooted for the girls she’s taking care of and, if the other will let her, the little wolfdog.

She seems to settle a little bit, looking toward the sky, and she’s able to see the way one puncture looks. Her nose wrinkles, then frowns, and she picks one foot up to move forward but she remains planted. “I can help you,” she tells her, letting her head droop below her shoulders. “I don’t even have to get close, I can tell you what to do?” she then asks, nose pointing in her direction as if to indicate the infected puncture but her fine motor skills are limited with their distance.