Wheeling Gull Isle Bring them home

Keeping things vague cause I have a couple unfinished threads. John is stopping on Wheeling Gull in search of Heda’s boys. Tags are for reference, unless you’re on the island, or close enough to capture his scent. Time set is early morning, about 6 am. Just when the sky is lighting up.

John had rested, and each day they got closer to the western waters, and each day he felt a pull, telling him to go to the island. He had no solid lead as to where @Simeon, @Malakai or @Judah were last seen or heard, but the crumbled temple of Sweetharbor was a good place to start. He told @Esma and @Boris of his leaving, but promised he would be back before the next day.

The tide was out early that morning, as John stood at the sand bridge, waiting for the tide to wash away, allow him safe travels across the water. When the time had come, on trembling legs he crossed the waters, and when he reached the sandy shores of the Island family’s home, he stopped and whispered a prayer: “Lord, let me find them, safe. And if it’s in your will, let them come home, to their mother who misses them.”

From there, he stepped from the sand to the sea grass, swaying in the morning breeze, the smell of lavender finding his nose, and how sweet the smell. He followed his nose to the lavender field that graced the island, and he knew what he would find, but still, he was surprised when he found it. He strode to the mound of dirt, which was decorated with lavender now, and he stood there. Caracal was a friend to him, a generous man, and he was terribly missed. 

He whispered again, as if he hoped that Carcal would hear his words, “Heda is safe, she is cared for and looked after. We all miss you, but it’s my hope that you are happy in your new home, beside our Father.” Tears welled in his eyes, and he bid the grave one last goodbye before he made his way to the tallest point on the island. There he would wait, waiting for the sons of Heda’s to appear.

He breaks in by the morning headland. Probably some homeless guy looking for quiet, or a place to die.

He rummages through the sea plants and finds the old flattened footpaths conserved by a three-legged gait. He strolls through his mother’s lavender garden and drops his feet at his father’s gravesite. He doesn’t look a thing like Judah- but he’s walking Judah’s island, helping himself to Judah’s life.

From secret places low in the dirt, where the columbine thickens and ash roots grow in dense enneads, a pair of ill-matched eyes regard the imposter with contempt, snaking forward every-so-often for a closer look.

He wouldn’t have known he wasn’t alone if it wasn’t for the scent that rode the ocean breeze. Yet, he stood in his place, his ears swiveling, before he turned his head to look. Whoever was here was hiding well. If he couldn’t see the resident unknown to him, perhaps his voice would find the ears of his spectator.

“I am John, formerly of Sweetharbor. I am here in search of missing sons.” He called out in a gentle voice.