Wheeling Gull Isle Some feathers I stole from the birds

Mou had not been far. He was nervous of Niamh, sure, and they had history — but it wasn't all bad. He remembered a time where she was his favorite person, a confidante, and he entertained the thought they might be again. It seemed fortuitous that she would show up at the island seeking solace the way he had; strange as it felt, Mou was glad. He wanted to catch up and make proper amends.

He did not want to invade her space, though. There was no telling what had driven Niamh so far from the Redhawks. He was preparing a gift for her: a fresh salmon caught from an island stream, some scraps of fur to use as bedding, a small toy that he thought Niamh's children could play with (and Maegi's, together).

That was when Maegi's shout reached his ears. He wasn't sure what he'd heard, only that it was loud and sharp. He dropped most of what he'd bundled, dragging the fish the longest, but then released its tail and let it sink in to the grass when he saw them: Maegi pushing at the round golden body of Niamh with no response.

Mou raced to Maegi's side and then began nosing around Niamh, searching for breath, for warmth, for anything — but she was gone.

No, no, no no no, she — they — this couldn't be happening!