Wheeling Gull Isle it must be that old evil spirit; so deep down in your ground

assurances, then, that she would not. the mistrust does not fade, but some of the tension does, alleviating some small degree of pain. this woman's words are odd, clipped, infused with a word she thought at first to have misunderstood and then realizes in entirely foreign. 

"the sea. something—a current." she pauses, gaze shuttering a moment as pain lances through her left shoulder. fangs gritted, she continues. "ended up here. orochi attacked me, dragged me here. another woman - black, scarred. knew I hurt orochi when I was a whelp, did this." stiffly, she gestures at the limb that is bloodied and raw, skimming over the exposed sinew, the way it dangles, with detached horror, hatred. her sides heave, talking takes energy she does not have. gaze returns to the woman, glazed and dull. "are you going to kill me?" words are detached, as if leaking from another muzzle. she does not want to die, the sudden terror of the thought would be terrifying should pain not have overwhelmed almost all capacity for thought. but if she will, on this miserable island, she wants to know it.