Wheeling Gull Isle trilipa

Heda's soft nudge forced him out of his daze. Registering her voice, he looked up to see the approaching figure. A coat of dark chocolate over a lanky figure. Drooping ears and a thin muzzle. The two of them couldn't have been more different. Ensio was tough and stocky. Carved from ice, snow and granite. 

He quite frankly, looked quite out of place on the stretch of sand connecting to the island. He scooted back, finding something humbling about the air of this man. He wanted to trust, so badly. Yet his guard was up. His ears remained splayed, his notched one flicking absently. "Heda is a dear childhood friend of mine, Bartholomew. Um, sir." He corrected himself, just in case he had not been formal enough. "I was surprised to find her here...and the island...I am deeply curious. I know only of the north...of mountains and ice." His voice cracked at the end. It was not hard to see that he was a boy who had lost far, far too much.