Wheeling Gull Isle and brought to an end their earthly days

The storm carried on as he finished up his task, soon clutching a bundle between his jaws gently. It would have been more of a questionable, comical sight to witness had the weather been better, the needlepoint sharpiness of his muzzle hanging firmly onto long, rough stalks and their root ball assortments. But the amusement in it did not cross his mind as he stepped away from his handiwork and onto the sands. Getting his bundle somewhere safe was the only priority, still with no concern for the thrashing of the heavens above.

The fastest way he had found yet took him in long strides across the wet shore, his feet kicking away the rushing waves as they longed to reach further and further. Beyond the treeline he could see where the storm darkened like a bruise, the mainland obscured behind curtails and veils of rain. It hastened him, knowing those dark clouds held more than just rain to douse them all with.

He began past the cave with a careful precision, where the tidepool had long scattered slick, sharp stones. He heard the squeak along with the clap of thunder but thought nothing of it. His focus was steady on where to put his feet, where to avoid stumbling and twisting of tender joints. The sooner he found the path he needed, the better, and he was unaware that someone else could quite possibly lay eyes on him here.