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

Even further away was a child torn. Duty to her family, to herself, to her dreams - it all made a festering mess of her emotions to a point where it felt like another beast was struggling beneath her skin. It would come out soon enough. She could feel the charge in the air of a distant storm, only vaguely able to see the rise of the dark storm clouds. Her tail lashed behind her and inside a new storm brew. Perhaps it was fed by the force of the earth, some pulling and needing thing she couldn't name. Maybe it was something different entirely. 

Soon, the storm in her would break. She did not know how, or why, but something would shift and change. She was growing, all of her siblings were, and she could not imagine what it might mean for her in a few short weeks when she could choose where she went and how. She did not feel wholly welcome in the pack despite her father's reassurances. She didn't feel comfortable there, like she had in the Fen. Maybe she would go back, just to see if Mato had come by. Maybe she would just check.