Wheeling Gull Isle the false understanding of life

The summons for the pack had sent a bolt of fear through Ruvik's heart. With Augustus, a pack - if you could have called the cult a pack - meeting had always meant a celebration, or a sacrifice. Either were equally as terrifying, as both occasions meant The Savior would be present. There she would watch them in her silent way. Watching, waiting.

Here, though, here he was safe. The sandbar acted as a bridge - a gate, even - and foolishly Ruvik had begun to believe the ocean would purposefully wash away any who crossed it with intent to harm those of Yuèlóng. For there had been nothing to suggest otherwise so far.

Answering the summons with his presence, Ruvik timidly approached the three wolves with a bowed head and body slung low. Of the two perched upon the mound in the sand, it was Huā he immediately recognised, and he greeted her with a nervous wave of his tail before turning to the paler woman at her side. Compared to the graceful looking leader, the other was outright bulky - a warrior, no doubt - while the same could be said for the tall, copper-coated male who proudly sat before them.

Trying not to draw attention to himself, Ruvik crept up to seat himself in front of the two women, at a distance from his much larger pack mate.