Wheeling Gull Isle bats full of shame

memories faded back, and the present reclaimed vesper. they felt their hackles rise as a figure appeared on the opposing shoreline, close to the arch that marked the bridge. the darkling made no movement or answer beyond a slight narrowing of their eyes, assessing the reddish figure from afar. the isle had been reclaimed, then, and quite possibly by no wolves they would recognize. that caused an uncomfortable feeling in their throat and chest, although they knew they had no right to feel territorial over a home that hadn't been home for the majority of their life.

still. vesper wanted to see it, feel it under their paw-pads. now that it was their choice of where to go, live.

fiery eyes dropped to measure the tide, but those mere inches of slushy water was enough to deter them from crossing. they hated getting wet, even in the high noon of summer. just a few more minutes, and then it would only be damp sand...

hello, they finally called back, voice deep and crackling from infrequent use.