Wheeling Gull Isle i'll be unwinding down by the island

The Stormlands. It was fitting. The storm seemed like it would pass over only this hub of land, in any case. Was it a bad thing? No. Certainly not. Unless, of course, the place could be washed out by the waters. Her investigating had not been that thorough. Her trait of self-preservation would have had her sprinting off the island were it not for the fact that another howled. Interest happened to be the most prominent feeling within her, beyond her aggravation. Tiamat cleverly decided that she could leave this wolf here on the island and find out through the others surviving (or the contrary result) what state of safety this place offered truly.

So she trotted in the direction she had heard the call, using every ounce of authority she possessed in the process. And when the figure was in her line of sight, the gray woman did not feign kindness, or offer shelter. "You have trespassed," she growled, "This is mine." The reality was she had very little authority to say as much; she had no followers, no reputation, nothing but her fangs and her cleverness and her will; she would not admit it aloud [as it would never help her case], but it was the latter two she often relied on. Such was the way it was at present. "A storm comes. Decide your fate. A scullion of mine, or shark-bate." Her eyes flashed as she tilted her head, presenting her pitiless deigning.