Wheeling Gull Isle glory

the dead held the priest's gaze, firm. 

with slow step, after step, it came nearer. black-eyed and hooded; in the pits beneath its brows, flickered the flames of unlife. 

the waters of the cave gave strange illumination.

⸸

now, they were near enough for their fragrances to mingle. 

( incense.

embalming fluid. )

the corpse canted its head.

"and if you someday do, father? if you falter, bloody your fangs... thieve, lie... make unholy the sabbath." it chuckled. "would this little lamb..." 

( parted only by difference in height, each warmed by the other's breath  )

"be worth enough, to be saved by the shepherd?"