Wheeling Gull Isle awake my soul

For WHI hopefuls.

The island wasn't much different than the coast except for the fact it was entirely coast; there was no escaping the strong musk of the wet sand as the tide withdrew and left deposits behind. By the afternoon the sea had lulled away from the section where Firefly had been napping in the sun. This withdrawal exposed some tidal flats - they stretched for a few kilometers towards the mainland.

There were dark patches of wet sand interspersed with sea water caught along some low points. Tiny fish - barely larger than fat worms - twisted through these shallow pools as they sought the deep blue. As the sand dried, so too would the slick green plants growing along the exposed rock along the islands perimeter. These patches were typically bathed in salt water and without it, they became something closer in nature to pond scum.

Overhead there were gulls, of course. Investigating the retreating water as they sought an easy lunch. The crabs left exposed by the retreating tide would make good meals if the birds could dive at them fast enough. Firefly watched all of this in silence; the pull of the sea away from the isle, the increased activity in the air, the scurrying of crabs as they dug in to the black sand in search of solace.

He watched, and he plotted.