The gull perched itself after it called out, hunkering down atop the boulder without a care. Above it there were two more, circling like vultures, no doubt brought in by the summoning shriek—but the lump did nothing. The lump, being a lump, couldn't hear anything. It didn't notice the birds or the arrival of a curious wolf, and would lay there half-buried in the sand just like the stone which guarded it.
A second gull landed next to the first, hopping across the top of the rock in order to peer down in to the shadow; and finally the third, which still coasted on the air currents, dropped. It landed in the sand next to the shadow, nearer to the pale wolf. It was bold and curious, but as the wolf got closer the bird took off again, spooked by his proximity. The sharp motion scared the two resting birds, and so the trio took off in to the summer sky; they squawked in protest.
Their collective bludgeoning of the ears was enough to make the lump take a proper shape, at least partially. It shifted weakly against the sand but did not rise; a leg slid in to the light and it was then that the salt-encrusted fur could be seen. Four toes, a slicked mixture of gold-cinnamon-brown, with wet sand caking the digits.
Thus the facts presented themselves: It was alive, and quite possibly, it was a wolf.