Wheeling Gull Isle I pray the lord my soul to take...

The lanky boy, who'd grown substantially since the last time he'd really shown his face around yet never seemed to shed hints of his awkward phases, decided that day he wanted to do something. He thought first that perhaps a trip to the mainland would be fun, but that dream was quickly shattered when he asked his mother if he was allowed. She denied him this privilege, and he supposed he understood. He'd lived a pretty sheltered life on the island; he tried to think of the last time he'd had a good time, as everyone seemed to have something going on. How did this happen to him?

He made his way to the heights of the island, where he came often to calm his ears. The green rushing of the wind was far more bearable than the swirling blues and purples of the sea. He didn't notice the girl at first, not that he'd approach on his own anyway; he was far too shy for such a thing.