Wheeling Gull Isle kasheho

Within moments, it felt, there were two of them. A woman's smile and an explanation to answer his stuttered query, for which he was thankful even if it did not give him as much awareness as he'd hoped.

My n-n-name? I, mm, Mo. His mouth wouldn't stay closed long enough to allow enunciation, and he was too tired to try his full name, but Mo would do for now. The woman moved to help him as he rose up.

Almost immediately, something churned in his gut and Mojag was heaving forward, coughing up a chest-full of water that stung his throat and splattered garishly across the rocks. He felt immensely better after, but his ears spun and slanted.