Wheeling Gull Isle i hate the air he breathes

He was alive.

After his ill fated drop into the sea, he didn’t know if he ever would be.

But, Aquillius was his father’s son, begrudgingly, so he pulled through. He ate what was given to him, he stared at the sunlight, and he began trying to piece together his movement all over again.

Today, he stumbled out from the den he had been festering inside, squinted at the covered sun and his surroundings. Once it all came into view, he was greeted by the island he was slowly coming to know, at least in the little spurts he managed to leave the den. He swung his head, bearish in motion, before he was off, still limping on his front leg, but decreasing more and more as the days went on and he got stronger.

Today, he sought the fields of lavender, where he would collapse in them until the mist covered his coat finely. Smelling sea salt every morning was..kinda nice, he thought to himself as the ocean breeze tugged at his fur.