Wheeling Gull Isle I wrote my way out

for @Miseria <3

Days went by; no Vesper. Blueberry languished.

There were wolves here and she knew it, but she chose to dwell within the shadows. Eating the morsels given her. Not contributing more than required of her.

Today, the sun peeked briefly from beneath the clouds.

She emerged, light beaming off her pale fur, sucking in air. The air was salty. But it felt right. She closed her eyes, taking in the sea-tinged breeze. Salty.

Even in the trees, salty.

She walked further, toes splaying over the forest floor with sand just beneath; if she went far enough, she would find the beach.

the vertebras released their built-up air with pop, pop, pops.

the spine-bearer made a sound of finally-found relief. rising from its stretch, it yawned, revealing asphyxiated tongue.

it blinked at the scenery; a beach. like any other, in whichever direction one walked.

( in life there might've been some admiration to be found in the sight, some soothing of the soul- 

now, there was only the thought of how poor of a mound the sand would make )

an unfamiliar appearance; white, easy to notice. an intruder? no, who would bother?

a recruit, then. another sheep for the good father's flock.

the non-sheep soundlessly bared its teeth, fur on nape bristling.

then resting.

the corpse sat, sunken into the loose granular substance.

and without much interested - and only slight distaste - watched.

What. . .was. . .that?!

The thing bared its teeth at her, and she did so, in turn, by reflex. But then the massive puffy form relaxed, though Blueberry did not. She let her lips fall, but her posture was still tense, and she felt her jaws clenched hard together without her really willing them.

Can I help you? she managed, voice as acerbic as her cold blue gaze. It was bad enough that Vesper wasn't here; to be met with this kind of welcome from someone she didn't even know was another thing altogether.

Fuck, this had been such a bad idea. All of it. For months.

an offering to assist, to aid. words of formality, manners, which were little moralities forced upon pup and adult alike, and neither cared for them once they departed the tongue.

the corpse stretched itself until its ribbed chest spread over the sand.

"can you undo death of the ego, or reverse the effects of dacay?" it spoke over the splash of waves, in a tone a decibel above conversational.

What the fuck?

That was the instinctual response, but she managed to bite it back. (Perhaps she was growing, after all.)

Instead, she gave the puffy woman a long, blinking stare before shaking her head, shrugging. I. . .probably not? she ventured. I mean, no. But, uh. You're with Bartholomew?

Blueberry lobbed the question out like a Hail Mary pass, unsure of what more to do.

Everyone here seemed so esoteric. Like her mother. And she kind of hated them for it.

the corpse scoffed.

"his hunters keep meat on these bones. his sheep keep words on this tongue." it spoke into the wind. "his sermons keep these ears small, in case they might enlarge." the muzzle scrunched with distaste.

it crossed its forelegs.

"come near. i won't shout." there was a question the corpse had.

Um. Okay.

If she were to live among this creature, she supposed she would have to get used to their presence. Blueberry came closer, small step by small step, and halted within a conversational distance of the mass of hair.

This okay? Blueberry asked, tilting her head a fraction to the left in inquiry.

She tried not to let her eyes linger in fascinated, bewildered observation, focusing instead on the gaze of the woman before her.