Wheeling Gull Isle you oughta know

Blueberry had vanished for a bit, following the wisps of a trail that she thought bore a slight scent of her Vesper.

What could she say? She was desperate.

But it had come to nothing, and she returned to the island with tail between her legs, only to find it near-deserted, the myriad scents whittled away. Breathing slightly faster, she exited the sandbar and called for @Heda, brows drawn together in concern.

She wondered if the priest's little enclave had caved in during her departure. And had she been a contributing factor? Nevertheless, she paced the beach, worried.

It was cold, but the sun shimmered upon the waves.

Her waves. Her home.