Wheeling Gull Isle when i was a child, i caught a fleeting glimpse

He stalked alongside Maegi and while his heart was with her, everything else was like the frayed end of a tether; he could not focus on the path ahead any more than he could discern the differences between trees creaking, birds calling, and the incessant fever-mad sensation that they were being followed. That death, in some capacity, had chased them to and from the Wilds.

Death; it smelled like family, sounded like the shrieking call of hungry hawks ready to pick the meat off of your bones, and always came when you least expected it.

Together they crossed to the island that had once been a place of respite. Titmouse did not know where they went in earnest, he did not care about the road ahead of them or their trajectory. He looked to every shadow as if it might be made of teeth. When they came across the land bridge and loitered upon the outskirts of Undersea together, Titmouse became aware of a difference in scents—Seelie was not here.

Shit. Maegi said before lifting her voice in a howl; he would have helped, but that was one aspect which Titmouse had yet to regain. He wallowed in the worried sentiment while pacing beside her instead.