Wheeling Gull Isle certain to tell you, confusion has its cost

Her life was filled with children, and yet, Maegi remained inescapably and utterly lonely.

Mou was a comfort, when he was around. But as pack numbers thinned, he had to work harder and harder to provide for them. All of her moments away from the pups were spent foraging alone. And the island, which had once been such a comfort, felt more like it really was—an inconsequential speck of land upon an endless ocean.

Jakoul had vanished; others, too. The Empress Hua had, seemingly, left her post, though Aiolos still commanded—he really was the only hope she had left for this place. And Niamh and two children lay dead and cold beneath the soil just outside the den.

She rested her head on her forepaws, feeling a sort of annoyance at the children pulling at her teats that was unlike her. . .at least, in litters past. Four pups were a lot; they drained her, body and mind and soul, every moment grasping for a nipple or her attention. A nipple she could give, albeit chapped and sore. Her attention? Rapidly dwindling.

Maegi closed her eyes, conjuring the quiet darkness of Onyx Hollow up before her. But the waves still crashed, the gulls still screamed, and she could not fully rid herself of the prison she had built for herself here.