Wheeling Gull Isle a place called kokomo

Komodo did not dream often, and when he did, there were few things he dreamed about.

The man was an adept hunter, so sometimes his unconscious mind regaled him with scenes of great hunts and big game. His thickset limbs would twitch and jaws would press tightly together without reason and when he awoke, his heart would be left pounding from the thrill of it. Other times, the legends of the gods replayed themselves in his mind; perhaps a ceremony he once witnessed during his wayfaring, or the relics he encountered on holy sites and holy people. Since the hurricane, though, the earthstalker’s dreams had been dark and nightmarish, of imprisonment and stagnation, of the madness that set in when wanderlust was stifled and confined by impassible, invisible walls.

and, often, he would awake to find that he was indeed imprisoned by walls of water. The island’s tides proved to be a barrier he could not cross — not yet, at least. The last remnant of the hurricane’s fury, perhaps. Komodo did not know why the gods chose this fate for him; a fate which was so contrary to the one they had groomed him for. How could he be a faithful servant upon this island? Spreading the holy word — and now his preaching were only to be heard by the limited audience brought to this island.  Maybe it was divine providence, as Axolotl believed; if it were true, Komodo could but understand it but it was something Komodo could resign himself to — but while the Atlanian was content with marking borders and claiming territory, there was something in Komodo that panicked.

The brute roused when a weight placed itself across his forelimbs. Blinking in the heavy, sonorous rays of the summertime sun, the inkblot came into view and materialized as Coelacanth. He could immediately see that it was the girl and not the feral thing that sometimes lived in her skin — knew it was her, indeed, with the familiar glint in her skybright gaze. A smile crept upon his lips, quite pleased with this turn of events, and stretched out all his limbs to rid them of sleep. Hoping he had not jostled her, the brute released his stretch and fell back languidly against the toasted, sandy terrain. After a moment, words came. “ ‘ow’re you feelin’? ” he burred slowly, bringing himself to a stake of wakefulness.