Wheeling Gull Isle son... sun...

huojin walked outside and paused halfway, his hindquarters still shaded by rock. it was warm outside; without the sea breeze, it would be sweltering, considering his lack of a summer coat. he looked back at ruó for second permissions, then fully emerged into the beaming sunlight.

the calls of seagulls loitering nearby echoed over their corner of the beach, high-pitched melodies and other such things. 那是什么? he asked in his oddly-accented voice. huojin was learning which languages were appropriate and when, but he still had trouble deciphering between each one.

thus, his next question was: πουλιά?, which he couldn’t have known his mother likely wouldn’t understand. he walked to the edge of their balcony and peered over the edge, looking down at the sandy crest where his family members so rarely wandered.