Wheeling Gull Isle xviiii. letting your guard down is honourable

@Daegon (set a day or so after this)

The golden creep of morning over the Isle found her long awake though rested slightly better than in the nights of fort past.

The nightwisp had taken to one of the nooks hidden within the grottos of the eastern shore for her nest - a cumilating pile of pelts, feathers, moss, that had been growing since washing ashore. Small curiosities - including the mauve shell that brought blush to her cheeks - glistened in display within stone grooves and crevices, lit by the errant beams that fell through the cracks of her roof. 

It was from here that the shadow slipped as the island's winged populace began to stir, birdsong and throaty calls ringing through the forests as the flocks took to flight. A sweep of Wheeling Gull and the Lady would turn for the innards of the woodland, bound for her gardens for a morning of fulfilling work and quiet reflection. 

The wisp's soul ached for her Muña as she swept over the tilled rows in a blackened arc, muzzle sheened with loam as she toiled - snipping errant growth and choking weed from the roots of her seedlings tenderly. She could not relax into the small universe of the plants and their needs without her mind turning to her mother, to all the days spent in Lirea's plots. 

Her gaze flickered over the newly formed gardens, finding solace in the thought of it blooming into something beautiful - a living structure, delicate in its intricateness - even if Muña was not here to witness it.