Wheeling Gull Isle his foolish decrees, his words so contrived

Sweetharbor was a safe harbor; their castaways remained. Caracal didn’t mind them, though he gave them their space. He wasn’t the greatest hunter, though he tried to keep the stockpiles stacked in lieu of helping more directly, like, with the medical skills he pretended he didn’t possess.

The sound of voices drew his attention as he tracked some kind of small animal across the island. Caracal didn’t mean to eavesdrop, so he considered moving off in another direction, but he caught a few tense words. Unable to resist, he ventured nearer.

He recognized Aquillius and raised a paw in a wave before looking at the others. There was a sleek, silvery woman who looked a little worse for wear. She was missing an eye, which prompted Caracal to glance back at Aquillius before peering at the youngest member of the group. He looked a bit like Etienne; perhaps they were brothers?

Hey, gang, Caracal greeted. Is this a meeting for one-eyed wolves? he couldn’t help but quip, motioning at his own hazy eye.