Wheeling Gull Isle tongkola

bartholomew gave her a choice. heda noticed for the half-dozenth time that he deferred to her that way. not in a sense of dominance or leadership, but as an equal. she did not feel like a child on this island. she felt caught between, and the great dark knife rising from the center of her might be the pain holding her back from crossing to the next shore.
it was a wild, dizzying thought. she focused on what his smile had looked like. 
slowly a wry curve crept to her own mouth. heda looked at the ground, then bartholomew. "i uh, i don't want you to see me f— mess up," she simply amended. "i actually broke my ankle not super long ago, doing dumb stuff while hunting. didn't even get it. i will this time." she lifted her paw. "and my ankle is fine now, great really."
was she talking too much? she was.
"i'll, um, come back to our 'permanent location,'" she joked. the little camp had no name. in fact she had none for any of the places. perhaps she'd find one. 
if he had no objections, heda would set off slowly, continuing the way she had gone. at length her body disappeared into the roll of the terrain and she was gone and she was alone, a growing soul left to her own contemplation.