Wheeling Gull Isle skaiflaya

He was there.

He had tried, earlier, to leave, but even with rest, he was weak. Aquillius was starting to believe he would always be weak, the bleak future ahead of him nothing like what he wanted for himself.

He was blind in one eye. The leg that had been clawed burned with thousands of little pincers. He thought, half hysterically for a moment, about wound crabs that crawled into his wounds to pinch him, and that got him laughing, at least.

Damn wound crabs.

The voice made his ear on his blind side turn, trying to adjust for not having his sight, and the boy ever so slowly picked his head up. He squinted in the dark, before using his front leg and his back ones to shuffle forward in an army crawl.

…albacore? He managed to rasp out, sounding marginally better than the day before. At least he was more alert today. His eyes found the part of the fish and went wide.

They come that big? He’d only ever seen small fish, like bass. This thing was a monster compared to all he knew.

Aquillius was beginning to realize he knew nothing at all.