Wheeling Gull Isle sapped of strength

When he thought he was going to certainly die there in his hiding place, Titmouse had a vision—or a strong fanciful thought that overwhelmed him for a moment—where the sound of the howling wind and the feeling of the sluice battering the shore fell away; in its place was the calling voice of Maegi, pained and worried and wanting him, and in his fright he'd uncoiled himself and emerged to the elements eager to face her. To find her, to protect her. But when he stood there, wind battered and confused by the chaos, where he thought he'd seen a glimpse of white fur there was just ocean, cresting a band of weeds and rocks and coming for him. He felt gripped by a familiar fear at that point. The sense that the sea was here for him and him alone—arriving just to swallow Titmouse up and take him deep in to the darkness, where he was meant to be. He felt himself fill with a vigorous rage at the thought of it, and didn't notice as his lips peeled back and he grimaced at the sea as if to promise, not today!

When he found the rest of Undersea they were being led away from the shore and deeper in to the woods, and he was swift to intercept them. By the time the chaos had begun to die down Titmouse was warm and dry within the shelter that they shared, watching with that weary-eyed expression of a cocaine addict without their fix, staring at the entrance where Seelie's figure was perched. He hoped, deep down, that Maegi would come running in at the last moment and be met by her family—but he knew she wouldn't come, that she had gone ages ago. The hope persisted, the worry, and he would not sleep as he took up a similar position to the Aralez, guarding the entry from behind her like a hungry specter.