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

Faeryn knew she should not have acted the way she had, but she couldn't help it. She hadn't been able to see, she had been panicked, she had been in pain. With a gulp, the silver dove turned to look toward the other wolf that was in here, apparently the inhabitant. "I'm sorry for barging in like that - May I stay here too until the storm passes?" She asked, hoping to bbe granted permission to stay. Then again, she could survive on her own. She believed so, anyway. Her wound wasn't too bad - she could just about walk on it. Right?

At the thought of the wound, Faeryn glanced down at her hind leg, licking the gash. It wasn't too deep, but it hurt like hell. She grimaced, searching her body for signs of any other wounds. There were a few scrapes here and there, but nothing serious. They weren't even bleeding - the one on her leg, however, was. It was slowing, though.

Where was she? The blue wolfess still did not know. However, she was in no state to do research.