Wheeling Gull Isle Another second lost with every falling grain

Set for March 20. All welcome, but preferably fast paced, as her condition is time-sensitive.

At an asymmetrical limp, Niamh made her way away from the Caldera and would arrive at the landbridge she'd seen once before as a faint shade of who she had once been. Years ago she had danced here along the shore with gentle Coelacanth, whose doleful, sparkling gaze she recalled now, and the promise that she had made that Niamh would be welcome to live on Wheeling Gull Isle with her. 

The morning was grey, and the winds ushered the waves to crash against the landbridge as she crossed toward the island, though she knew the rising water level meant that the tide was rising. Ocean spray soaked her pelt, laying her blonde fur flat against her bulging sides. Her stomach growled fiercly, and seemed to spur the children she was carrying into a frenzy. 

She groaned as she reached the island, and felt a wave lap at her ankles. She would not roam further inland, but called out- requesting with frail urgency that someone come to greet her.