Wheeling Gull Isle the child is grown; the dream is gone

Somewhere within the emotional maelstrom, Maegi caught the question. She rolled over to stare at the keeper of that voice, blinking back tears, her face taut in anguished incredulity. Am I okay? she repeated, the words snot-muffled but undoubtedly terse. Do I look—

But the energy for barbs left her, suddenly, and she let her voice trail off. Sighing, Maegi brought herself to a more dignified sitting position. Her eyes wandered over the plain brown form (though envious of the wholeness of her). She was silent for a beat or two more before speaking again.

No, she continued, I'm not okay. Her nostrils flared, trying to ascertain how long this woman had been on the island—they certainly hadn't properly met before. You new here?

Eventually, she tired of the conversation, and moved on, stalking ghostlike along the turbulent coast.