Wheeling Gull Isle derrida

a wolf. scarred in a manner that invoked the crack of lighting, their eyes the color of a distant sky.

wearing the opposite of a theater mask, twisted now in ebony expression of discomfort.

a single wrinkle near the lips deepened.

"none." its gaze was round-edged and heavy as a stone. "why, i am contemplating the hole."

the dark body leaned back by the slightest noticeable bit. it was amused by own idea.

"won't you join me?"