Wheeling Gull Isle you were beautiful

She implored that he fight, and of course he would do his best as any dying man would, but at the same time he knew somehow that death would always be calling for him. There were many skilled healers here to aid him; their diligence, coupled with her unfailing optimism and apparent connection to the body, made the boy think that, perhaps, this might've been his home after all. Would they have tried to hard for anyone? Would this poor dark girl be this heartbroken?

He opened his mouth again to speak, to acquiesce, and a scene flashed before his eye — so fast he didn't quite catch it. The image was of the girl on a beach; the feeling of sadness weighing on him — and then, disjointed, the image of a dark body beneath him —

The boy was piecing fragments together from his life before, but they didn't fit. She spoke of puppies — he saw himself with someone — and if this were his home, truly, perhaps those puppies were his too. With a tired sigh he says, F-eye, and watches her keenly, hoping she understands him. Mm, f-eye. He'd do his best, anyways.