Blackbeak Bluff wind chaser

Jorunn responds with a certain measure of affection that serves to confound her further.

Away from home, her voice breaks. A gull careens above her, down to the scree below. To an island where I can live all on my own. On anyone else's mouth, such a statement might've been fanciful, but on Charna's it was just a flat token that conveyed nothing but pure volition.

She turns to take it in - the sea just beyond, grass carded by the wind, the stone gone rough and scalloped with bird droppings and moss. Maybe that one.