Wheeling Gull Isle the story is in the soil, keep your ear to the ground

Komodo looked out across the empty waters; the silence of the place close to deafening. The islands had never been truly teeming with life, but it had been teeming with purpose. 

Here, though, there was neither.

Komodo, ever in tune with the vibrations of the earth, understood the imbalance the moment he recognized the silhouetted island cut against the mist rising above the briny channel. He heard the whispers of the gods brush against his ear; for some reason they would not speak loudly in this place, and it immediately concerned him. The high tide precluded him from immediately traversing the channel on land, and it was far too cold to take to the seas, so the santana sat in wait for the hour to turn more favorable. He was wordless in communicating this to the roving party, but when finally the sandbar laid bare in the weak winter sun, he led their quartet across. 

The island wolves had not necessarily been thriving upon his departure, but Komodo felt as though their survival had been secure. He did more than felt it; many times on his travels, the medicine man prayed to the gods to steward his wolves and performed ceremonies to curry their divine favor. He had bargained for the stormborn wolves' safety and good fortune with everything he had known. It had not been true abandonment, though the desolate island of that day might give the appearance of it! Had he known this would be the result of his leaving — an island as stagnant as the life upon it — perhaps other measures could have been taken. 

However, Komodo refused to take blame for this. He had one request of the council: that he maintain the freedom to come and go and he please. Anything less was, simply, a dealbreaker. The small group of leaders had agreed to see to Undersea’s wellbeing in his stead... and now, Komodo wondered what had been made of the council and their promise. Scattered to the winds, he was certain, but hopefully hale and healthy. Komodo made note to he would pray for them later.

Though Komodo did not feel guilty, the man certainly did feel somber. The wintered island had perished without the warmth and care of its canine caretaker, and it was always a sad occasion when something beautiful was, simply, no longer. Without prompt, purpose, rhyme or reason, the earthstalker curled his tail beneath his seat, pressed his ears sharply against his crown, tipped his chin to touch the sky and let loose a sad, honey-whiskey song.

@Sirimiri @Corten and whoever else!