Wheeling Gull Isle You Dream About Going Up There, But That is a Big Mistake

Driftwood stared at the stallion in paralyzed fear for a minute, watching helplessly as the creature snuffed the air and shook his scruffy mane. It seemed an eternity before the horse lowered his head to crop at the sun-bleached grasses again, and before Driftwood remembered how to breathe once more.

Uh, he managed with some difficulty. I... I didn't know they were here. His voice came out a whisper, only barely louder than the gentle island breeze that was currently carrying all the four-legged scents far out to sea. The wind... I didn't... He was hardly able to so much as glance in the direction of his fellow wolf, his gaze continually drawn back to the small, peaceful herd dappling the meadows before them. It took him another moment to jerkily nod his head. Yes; yes, walking off to leave the horses as far behind as possible sounded like a great idea right now. But since they didn't seem to be doing much of anything, he had the breathing space to gather himself up and remind his limbs of how to work again. Awkwardly he shuffled back, his brave walking away really more of an indirect belly crawl in motion. His underside was probably gathering about a thousand different tiny needling grass seeds that'd jab him mercilessly for days, as it scraped across the plant-softened ground, but right now he so did not care. Y-y-yeah, I'm Driftwood, he belatedly managed, as those first few clumsy steps away were taken, though his throat still felt tight and it was as if a band of fear was physically wrapped around his middle. L-let's go, he almost pleaded, and then managed to accidentally dislodge a small pebble that collided with a few of its fellows with a small clackity-clack-clack that sounded like a full-on clap of thunder to Driftwood's ears. He froze again as the stallion again loosed an irritable snort and raised his proud head in their direction. The horse took two quick steps in their direction with his black-edged ears on full alert, and a wild-eyed Driftwood's muscles tensed, preparing to bolt.