Wheeling Gull Isle east is up

@Fern

There was a heady warmth to everything at this time of year, and Mou could not recall the last time he had basked for so long in the rays of the sun, but when he tried to rise from his encampment he found himself unable to keep his footing. Thankfully he was being watched by @Reed — she rushed to his aid with a crabby little look — and soon enough, she had escorted him back to the shelter where he had spent most of his days. The shadows were like a cool balm to his skin.  Once deposited, the caretaker grumbled something about being more careful or maybe keeping out of the sun, and hurried off to her other duties, content with Mou's situation for the time being.

The boy was still groggy from the sun; perhaps she had gone to fetch him something cool to drink? In that instant, beneath the bleariness of the ebbing heat in his head and sleepiness brought on by the season, he thought he recalled a crab filled with water, and maybe even someone crying, but none of it made sense. It was a dreamy flash of nothingness, he presumed, for in moments he had forgotten again — likely just a trick of the mind brought on by his long stay in the sun.

Mou adjusted himself a little bit and felt a pinch to his soft sides, an ache to his hips, but was content in a few seconds. The moist air of the hollow was comforting and cool, and he now basked in the company of familiar herbs. He wondered vaguely if he would have any visitors today — since Reed had left him, Mou had to assume someone was watching over the entrance to his hideaway or perhaps the two medics were off collecting honey for his throat, he could not know for sure.

There was, oddly, the feeling that he was being watched, and as apprehension began to collect in him he felt a tightening to the muscles of his shoulders. There was a sound deeper in to the hideaway, along a wall just off his flank, but to turn too sharply would hurt him so Mou was left to wonder and to crawl on his belly, slowly making adjustments, until he could scour the greyness with his good eye for — well, whatever it was. He couldn't call out for help if such was needed, and resorted to airly huffing, as if that would get the attention to whatever had spooked him.