Wheeling Gull Isle His ego almost got him killed

Strand had been incredibly lazy of late, napping away the progressively warmer days on the island. It was still cold. It was not yet summer. But it was getting there. She’d taken for granted the fact that there were others on the island now to help her take it over. But today she’d decided to actually get up and do something for once. The golden male she came across, who, in coloration, looked so much like her, made her stop. He seemed to be looking for something and didn’t seem like he thought he was trespassing. He’d probably spoken to Rokig or Firefly if he was this calm. “Hey you!” Strand called as she trotted up to him, her limp ever present and the scar on her shoulder as obvious as it always was. “You need somethin’? I own this island, so if you do need something, you’ll get it through me.” That’s right, Strand. Keep asserting dominance like an asshole.