Wheeling Gull Isle on the line between gaia and poseidon

She spends a lot of time on her own, bored and hungry. She doesn’t know how far she’d gotten away from the glacier but with the weather altering the atmosphere she struggles to make her way back. Instead, she’s closer to the ocean and that’s a whole different world she finds interest in. So far, she’s made it out here without much help. She’s hunted small game and scavenged for the rest and her form is thin and frail, still. 

The sky isn’t as bright as it should be for the time of day and dark clouds sit in the distance. Wind tears through the shores and she squints against the cold air, shivering as it penetrates her thin coat. It reminds her a little of the glacier but more violent and angry. The cold has settled into her bones in a different way than the ice but she wants to shed it all. Can’t the world be warm everywhere? What use is the cold anyway?

With the tide low, she spies the sandbar that reaches from the coas outward and following it with her dark olive eyes leads to something else in the distance. Her head cocks to the side a little and curiosity overcomes all the discomfort from the cold and rain and she trails along the barrier until she reaches the island. The wind whips sand back and forth and she can sort of pick up scents of other wolves but confusion takes over and surely she’s mistaken? 

Without knowing much etiquette as a lone wolf, she doesn’t howl and instead lingers on the fringes of the island.