Wheeling Gull Isle i need some meaning i can memorize

@Cascada

 The storm had spent itself. The island, torn. Trees, scattered. Beaches, eroded. The maelstrom did not leave quickly, nor did it leave quietly, and the island was strewn with the remains of the combined force of the storm surge and winds. The landscape was semi-unrecognizable, with the water darkened with driftwood and rocks belched from the depths. For many hours it had raged, the gods beating their fists against the earth's surface and crying torrents of rain. It was one of the few times that the earthstalker would ever, genuinely admit that he had been frightened. Not for his life, for he was much too dextrous for that; but frightened at the fury of nature and the sheer power of the gods. Never before had he felt so small, so insignificant, so inconsequential. It was a reality that Komodo did not enjoy facing.

But as all things did, it eventually came to an end and the small band of wolves, the one who were last from the beach and the others who sought shelter elsewhere, emerged on the other side of victory. Komodo knew Ixchel was hearty, just as Axolotl and Coelacanth were hearty and he did not worry as much for themselves. They could hold her own; but the others he did not know and, therefore, he could not trust in their capabilities. His motives to create an amalgam of the differen clans had not been entirely self sacrificing, either — there was strength in numbers. They would all be stronger, together.   As he picked across the landscape, his mind mulled over the incredible event that had just occurred;  the wolves whose lives all converged here; the confinement of the shores and the ocean that was so eerily calm now

— and contemplated how he would make his escape.