Blackwater Islands poor unfortunate souls

hoping to snag an @Indie @Gabe or @Chelan!

Clutched tight in her jaws was a fresh killed gull. The conflict had dispersed a great deal of small downy feathers across her face and chest, but she paid the mess little heed in her single-minded direction. She waded through the freshwater creek that divided the eastern and southern shore (that also led inward to Thetis' Grotto), emerging on the opposite bank with the lower half of her coat soaked through. The air had a mild bite to it—the last gasp of winter, that dug icy talons into her damp skin, but it was not nearly as pressing as the task at hand.

She arrived at the predestined spot where a discarded semi-circle of driftwood lay, likely from the last unusually high tide. The pieces were sunbleached, and many of them lacked bark for how long they'd been adrift across the fathoms. Akantha carefully picked her way across the site, bird still dripping blood from her jaws, and mindful of where she placed her feet as not to disturb the perfect art of the Mothers' expert hands. She perked both ears and her eyes were wide with curiousity as she stole a glance towards the waves that hissed and frothed a few yards below. 

Slowly, carefully, she lowered her head and released her grip. The bird lay splayed in unnatural angles from where she'd broken both it's neck and a wing in the violent, but brief, tussle that ensued after snatching it from the air mid-flight. With a steady nose, she began to nudge and prod the creature with exacting, precise adjustments.