Wheeling Gull Isle I didn't drown; I couldn't seem to die

A strange-looking man arrived, lanky, with fur she'd never seen before—curly. He cut a dark, ragged appearance in the stormy night, and asked about the weather.

Feeling her ankles begin to freeze, she stepped onto the beach, keeping her posture low and deferent, and replied, No, I sent me your way. I was born here.

Blueberry's eyes wandered along the shadowy ridge of the island's core, ocacasionally illuminated by lightning. When I was here last, no one lived on the island. Who are you? How many are there?

And is Vesper among your ranks?