Wheeling Gull Isle come on oblivion

Something was in the air.

It was unsettling, the sort of feeling one obtains like a sinking feeling, that proverbial pit in the stomach that only seems to settle deeper and deeper until it is all consuming. The sort of thing that spurs an anxious energy like that before a tumultuous, hellacious storm, an energy felt like thick tension in the air, weighing in with every breath.

It was a feeling unlike any other, a feeling he had once before.

The dread consumed him at dawn.

Lingering on the eastern shore of the isle, his gaze fixated on the horizon where the sun had broken through. All was calm, the only unsettled sight he could find was the chop of the waves that never relented, never ceased. Still he could not shake the sensation of a noose tied tight around his neck, or quell the nausea that stirred. The coywolf simply did not like the energy of the day. It was not ordinary, it was not commonplace, there was simply something about it that was decidedly off.

But just what, he could not place a single nail to.