Wheeling Gull Isle Sailors live so restlessly

But gently did his paws brush against and passed her muzzle, hardly able to reach at first. Only when she lowered her head did he find it far easier to touch her—and as much as he could, he wondered if this was how things were meant to be. A cry bringing him attention, that attention becoming a connection… if only he were capable of thinking of these things in depth. Later in life, perhaps these same questions might find him but, for now, there was but a single focus: play.

Warm breath fanned over him, causing a shiver to shake his small frame—another new experience, the warmth that came from his mother and siblings combined usually willing such motions away. Pausing in his batting, he gazed up at her curiously: did she cause that? Huffing, the child used his hindlimbs to kick out, trying to repeat whatever it was that just happened to him.