Wheeling Gull Isle the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking

She closes her eyes.

Greeneyes. She thinks it is her heart, not seawater, hitching a breath in her throat. Swimming was never something she’d really practiced.

Her eyes open the moment a crack of lightning breaks the sky into pieces. Panic surges into her body, sending her body clumsily to all four feet. It is but a fleeting moment as her legs buckle and send her back to the wet sand, rain thundering down around her. She can’t get enough breath back into her lungs and all the moving causes her to heave forward, coughing up enough water to last someone for days. Ragged breaths causes her chest to unevenly rise and fall in quick succession. A few more times she coughs up more water, unsure where it’s all even coming from at this point.

Looking down the coast shows nothing but washed up seaweed and driftwood and other debris left over from an angry ocean. The wind whips back and forth and she tries with whatever energy hasn’t been sucked out of her to get onto all four feet once more. She is unsteady and the weather threatens to topple back over, but she forces her paws to move one at a time to get her away from the water’s edge and further into the island. The girl glances over her shoulder to see the waves rip back and forth, beating against the shore and leaving the damage behind for another to come along. She can’t see very far in the thick of the storm, unaware she’s even on an island.

She refocuses her attention back and continues on, searching for refuge. The pressure on her chest increases with each step and she struggles for a full breath, causing her to stumble a time or two. She eventually finds her way across the tune and fumbling through the underbrush that entangles her limbs as she goes.