Wheeling Gull Isle Another second lost with every falling grain

The golden shape hobbled to the island under the cyclopean watch of Mou, who had caught a glimmer of yellow fur by chance.

When the call came he was roaming a nearby beach for anything new the tide had brought in, but he stopped as he recognized the voice. Mou was some distance away; a band of weathered trees sat on a hill of coarse wheat-like grass between him and the sound, so he would take time to reach the area the stranger called from.

On the way he kept an eye out for Maegi or Hua, unsure of where anyone else was. He had taken more time to himself of late.