Wheeling Gull Isle When everyone you thought you knew deserts your fight

their numbers among the isle shrank, and bartholomew was without knowledge of why.

perhaps everybody had tired of their time here. perhaps the sea was too harsh in the way it welcomed winter among them. if he worried (and he did, deeply) he hid it from all. securing himself away behind a mask of golden warmth each day. tending to things as if he was not internally living in a frantic state.

so he felt himself grapple with further panic and further relief at a figure crossing the bridge.

he knew not what to expect of visitors anymore.

he approached the man on willowy limbs, wary but showing only his warmth outwardly. blessed day! he called above the biting sea breeze.

what has brought you to sweetharbor?