Wheeling Gull Isle A truce with trust

Blueberry was moving in her normal wraith-like fashion through the island forest when movement caught her eye. A creamy wolf, not unlike Heda, though they lacked the vibrant crimson stripe along the spine. No, someone new, and she was drawn to them, and stood watching their progress from a distance, head slightly tilted.

What are you doing? she asked after a time—if the other hadn't noticed her already. The tugging and pulling at plants was reminiscent of her mother, and other herbologists she'd known; not surprising if the religious quacks on this island also fancied plants.

It was like she had been tossed into a whirlpool of everything she'd ever tried to escape.

The more fool her, she supposed.