Wheeling Gull Isle i hate the air he breathes

On a face so young, the perfunctory smile was uncanny. It had the same incongruency as the scar that ran through his eye.

He nodded at the boy's words. They came in staccato, in brief machine-gun reports. If anything, he was easy to understand, and Daniil was grateful for it.

Where were you before? He canted his head to the side. Your commandant is looking for you, no?

Beyond them, the ocean lapped at the far side of the shore. High tide had nearly eclipsed the land bridge, separating Sweetharbor from the rest of the wilds. He recognized Aquillius's sense of urgency. For a soldier there was no feeling more uneasy than being separated from your company -- and the island itself had a strange, Bermudan quality that rendered it utterly and pleasantly detached from the outside world. For a civilian it might've served to be dreamlike, but for a legionnaire it would be nothing more than the source of a deep phantom pain.