Wheeling Gull Isle solitude

He didn’t know quite to say to that other than an inarticulate, Huh, that did not indicate properly the consideration he gave Heda’s words.

They arrived at the edge of the field, which he’d expected to be in full bloom but of course wasn’t. The last vestiges of cleverness drifted away on the sea breeze as he wandered the swath of faded purple, sprawling from the foot of the hill to the water’s edge.

I can’t remember where exactly I heard this, Caracal mused to Heda as he wandered back closer to her, but aren’t gods—sorry, God—associated with heaven? I’m not an expert or anything but this place feels a bit like that: heaven, I mean.

He halted in a patch of dried flowers, soaking in the stale smell. His tail flicked as he scanned with his right eye, which eventually rested on Heda again. He felt a strange flicker and his brain helpfully jested, God, is that you? But really it was just a spark of joy.

Do you ever think about Atau… you know? Caracal wondered suddenly, as ever unable to pronounce the pack’s name.