Wheeling Gull Isle corn liquor tastes sweeter in this town

He had not left the isle since setting foot on it, and the walls had yet to close in. There was no foreboding sense that lingered over him, no depressing hand to press down onto him and smother him in the loam. It was idyllic, for a change, to simply gaze out from a point on high and see the ocean spread endlessly and melt with sky at the horizon.

There was much to be done, and @Rhælla had not kept such things out of public knowledge as far as he could tell. Such he supposed was the way with any establishing hold. Set boundaries, familarize oneself, and maintain. All would have a purpose there and he hoped they would deign themselves to upholding it with pride rather than resignation. But a keen eye for such he did not necessary hold—he worked to familiarize himself with the island's breadth, but ultimately found himself ringing the coast in idle thought.

It was a passive habit hard to break, though perhaps he did attend to things somewhat mindlessly. Marking a border was not relatively difficult to perform once he learned where the tide could not reach. There were plenty of stones to make their claim clear, though he found they were well worn by the elements. They were not pretty roughhewn gems that he could easily collect should he have felt the pull.

He cast his gaze across the stretch of open water between the isle and the mainland at one point, halting his steps. Something had caught his eye, a glimmer of something, but whether it was real or simply a play on things he did not discern. The spirits had been quiet for so long and he, so out of practice with his craft, wondered if they would ever be there again.

In time, surely, he would find his place.

He pressed along the sandy path with a sigh.

no need to match length, but tagging the active lot for visibility if they'd like to join — @Lokie, @Connor, @Rosencrantz, @Komal, @Daegon