Wheeling Gull Isle stranded

A ghostly figure in her periphery gave her pause. Her hackles raised as she whipped her head around to take in the other wolf. A male. White as a ghost. She did not notice that he was talking to himself. He was not charging at her, did not even seem to notice her. She was angry all the same. This was her island. Already she felt territorial about it. She did not know how much food would be on an island, nor what kind. Whatever was there, it was hers and not his. She would fight him over it. She would kill him. She stalked towards him angrily, adrenaline giving her a glimmer of strength. In the back of her mind, she knew the blood-rush would not be enough in a real fight. She would probably just pass out from hunger in the first ten seconds. But she was too angry to care. Angry that the sea had spit her out on this island. Angry that she remembered nothing beyond the storm. This man would be the one she took her anger out on. 

Or she’d just pass out in the sand in about a minute.