Wheeling Gull Isle Sailors live so restlessly

Cries brought comfort and comfort brought interest; did the more he cry correlate directly with the amount of attention received? Such was a thought to muse over another day, far into the future, when proper thought patterns no longer escaped him. For now, the boy’s whimpers slowly turned into soft coos and garbled blabbering. Unsteady, his excitement caused him to tumble over—and he took it a step further yet, rolling over onto his back.

Baby blues widened in awe, a new shadow disrupting this gift of his. Large and dark yet… soft, gentle—was this the Milk Giver? Slowly, the little sailor’s paws flung up and he batted at the shadow playfully, any ounce of sleep that clung to him previously now having flown straight out the window.