Wheeling Gull Isle Don't be shy.

he lingers along the outskirts of the island today, restless but wary of the strong winds and the promises of a storm marking the sky. the island is lovely, of course, and more than enough to keep him occupied — but there's something about being confined to one place that he can't quite get over. it makes him anxious.
so the sandbar is in his line of sight when a stranger begins to cross it, though he's not entirely sure what to make of it. he doesn't think he's been here long enough to know who all can come and go, but he doesn't recognize anything about the skeletal figure. in fact, he's reminded distinctly of the barrens as the other coywolf draws near enough to make out his features. it's not a pleasant reminder. sighing softly to himself, he moves to close the distance still between them. he halts only a few feet away, studying the stranger a little warily. do you have business here? he decides to ask, trying to keep his voice steady. he's not made for guarding borders, really, but he's doing his best and that's what counts. unless he dies — then it doesn't count at all.