Blackbeak Bluff wind chaser

You don't like them? The island wolves? The isles sit squat and dark against an anemic horizon. The land that faces them is shaded by a thick forest; she squints but sees no movement other than the branches that shiver in a brief wind.

She envisons men, women, and children, sinewy and silent as they weave through the undergrowth. A procession taken from a dream.