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

He had washed up to the shore – the salt clung to his fur, lightening the midnight strands. The rain was torrential, and it woke him from his sea-induced slumber. His eyes were blurry as they blinked open – the bright orange lanterns unfocused as he saw nothing but dark sand and angry grey clouds. He heard a male voice – someone yelling – and began to move his body, withholding a groan as he realized how stiff his muscles were. The sea had carried him somewhere – to hell, perhaps, for it had been death he had sought.
 
He pushed himself up – his body heavy – and he stumbled now. Darkness flashed before him as the blood ran from his brain, and Constantine almost fainted. He lowered his muzzle, pressing it to the sand, and as he inhaled the sharp scent of the sea, it was his sister’s eyes that haunted him for a moment – the salt and sea had become her. And now she was gone.
 
The memory stirred his heart, and it was then he turned, retching the sea water he had swallowed, and shuddering as his thoughts clouded with his failure to keep his family safe. The others, for now, were ignored.