Wheeling Gull Isle a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied

the girl followed, moving at the side of Cascada with the occasional glance at the other girl. her movements were stiff, laced with pain from her bruised and battered ribs, and the collection of cuts and bruises that littered her left side and limbs, some of which displayed the earliest signs of infection already. they came across the others soon enough, and her ears flicked backwards in a clear display of unsettledness. they were all adults, strangers, and there were so many of them. the most discerning fact, however, was the silence. 

"Are we going to die, then?" her words, tinged by accent and the roughness of her throat, jarred the silence as others arrived. They were soft, almost toneless, as the fiery girl's gaze fell, hawkish, on every member of the group, before sitting beside Cascada. her demeanour faltered a moment as the movement jarred her ribs, but her fierce stare was quick to return. This place was an island, she thought. She knew about islands, from ... somewhere. the blurred memories and faces in her head were better off ignored. she didn't know if things could survive on them, especially the large amount of wolves that seemed to be here, along with the pale girl, Cascada and herself. her gaze, fiercely commanding an answer, fell on the large male, the one who seemed leader-ish. Komodo, and while she did not remember him, her rescuer.