Wheeling Gull Isle glory

the readied venom of its tongue was washed by the sea, bitterness within the bones soaked as throughoutly as the chow's thick, heavy coat, which now hung about its malnourished frame in a revealing way.

it felt disgruntled, tired.

a languid, cool freshwater stream flowed from a cavemouth, and the preacher bid them follow it to within the stone and earth. there, a panting undead finally lowered its head and lapped at the water.

it let the question hang in the air, until its thirst was stated.

raising its head, a deep blue tongue darted out to gather the droplets from its whiskers. with a remainder of its churlishness, it extended the silence to look over the interior, the queer, dancing reflection of the flowing water upon the stone ceiling.

"i have none." the beardog rumbled. "there are those, who'd try and dispute that. but they know nothing."

it looked over its shoulder at the preacher.

"and you?" glint within the deep-set eyes. "do you still abide by the slavery of names?"