Wheeling Gull Isle where the wind’s like a whetted knife

Faeryn had thought earlier that she had caught a whiff of Ondine's scent along the coast, but once the wind began to pick up and the rain thundered down upon her pelt. She was drenched already - but still going. After all, she had nowhere to go. She would have to find shelter, but she could find none that was safe enough. She wanted to know where her former alpha was - would she know what to do? Fae had never been in a storm before. She'd heard of them, but never been in one. What was she supposed to do?

There was a tree. It was hardly stable, but it seemed more so than the others. With a panicked sigh she forced her way over there and slumped at its base, praying that she would live. Or... maybe it wouldn't be so bad to die? Free from this world and its misfortunes? That was a welcome thought at this point. Faeryn glanced up, water splattering on her face as she watched the smudgy blue line that was supposed to be the sea. It was churning and rough. Where was Ondine? Why was she out here? And what was Fae going to do?