Wheeling Gull Isle going in town with six rounds

She had a keen grasp of emotion, he would give her that. Though he was often not one to wear his wariness openly, she had picked it up from any matter of things. Time alone had dulled his hold on such things, though still wondering of otherworldly things he supposed she may have been an empath in her own right. Or at the very least, someone who walked a similar trail as the one he had been on.

Perhaps it were through these experience that left her kindly.

"And your craft as well?" He ventured gently as her offer concluded itself. He worried not whether the isle would be suitable. He suspected it was if she had singled it out and sought refuge in its embrace. It was isolated, even guarded at the distance it kept from the shoreline. And like he, not necessarily so easily swayed, but unlike him that it yearned to belong.