Wheeling Gull Isle xxiii. thirsty eyes and hungry hearts

He had been head first in a hole when a summoning call arose in the early morning. Or perhaps it was midday, he decided upon a cursory glance skyward. Either way, perhaps it mattered not at all; he still heeded such a thing. It was a slow integration to the isle but he had not strayed from its secular position along the coast, even when he could have. There was always work to be done and as he was discovering on his own, this little slice of paradise may not have always been their own. But it had been abandoned for some time, and how long he wondered.

Still, he found no answers in the winding trails that led him. He heard no answer from the wind in the eaves, nor a flicker of a response in the mottled shadows littered across the earth. Nor did he go looking for them or ask just yet; if the world wanted to be heard, it would make itself known, and it was very much like the great beyond in that regard.

He came upon the gathering—small still, but perhaps it would grow—and found that he recognized the lot there. Komal. Connor. The Lady, of course, the focal point in which he kept his attention on as he tapered his pace to casually file in among their ranks. Beyond her, he understood why they had been gently summoned to the locale and found the deer a strange thing to see. Perhaps wolves and their ilk were not the only ones brazen enough to cross the sandbar... or perhaps these had been driven there from the mainland.