Wheeling Gull Isle blood alone moves the wheels of history

set after this thread and directly after this thread

After Komodo abandoned the caves with Coelacanth within, his gait strengthened to a hearty gallop and he traversed the island terrain at a rather fast clip. He knew better than to go to the strand, as he almost certainly believed that was where the little Groenendael might steal away to — instead he made headway towards the lagoon and its marbled precipices, and his thundering paws made quick work on the distance.

There was a certain fire in his veins that he could truly not explain, nor place — so it was godlike in the sense, and it overwhelmed him. The brute had wrenched himself away from the girl, but therein lied a sense of incompleteness and brokenness that made him feel things that he’d just… rather not. So, he ran to soothe his muscles, his ragged mind and his worrisome conscious which still threatened to beat himself silly for what he must have just put Coelacanth through. He was not truly a monster. He could see when he had been wrong. 

Finally, he burst forth from the island’s innards and skidded towards the tall cliffs that stood sentinel to the lush lagoon. For a moment the earthstalker considered running straight off the side and into the water below — not to finish himself off, but to drown his simmering guilt in a tsunami of adrenaline — but this was yet another thing that Komodo wanted to do, could see himself doing so clearly in his mind's eye, but didn’t. These things were so common nowadays! 

Instead he skittered to a halt at the cliff’s edge and thrust his nose to the wind as if to howl — but he found that no sound could be made.