Wheeling Gull Isle A measure of memory

"Bar...tolomew," It was a name she had never heard before. Thresher had been shy to speak for quite some time- and still struggled occasionally with new words. But she was comfortable with her error and smiled. "Bar..tholomew. Better!" She said, with a somewhat surprised laugh. She whispered the name once more, under her breath, without hesitation, and then smiled. She could say it now; she would not likely struggle with the leader's name again. 

It excited her to be speaking of her birthplace once more, and to be sharing its secrets with him. She took note of their direction, and smiled faintly. He would want to see the corners of the island from those hills- but there were some things she knew that might be missed even from that vantage point. Things that could only be glimpsed from the right angle, from the right entrance, at the right time. Perhaps the pack had already discovered the island's greatest secret, but perhaps they had not. 

He was right to be wary of winter weather on the island, but she took his apprehension in stride. "The weather gives us warnings...The colour of horizon, of sunset and sunrise, the pressure inside our own heads, too!" She explained. "Certain types of frost, the direction of wind...There is so much to hear when listening to nature." She said, and fixed her eyes on the hills that rose up and away from the sandy beach. 

She frisked sideways and tossed her head. "To the top, let's run!" She said, bounding a few steps forward to see if he would pick up his pace as well.