Wheeling Gull Isle plaža

Whether or not the island would become a formally claimed territory, it was still their home. And soon it might house their children. The thought put a hitch in Caracal’s breath even as he found himself patrolling the shores. Namely, he walked back and forth along the stretch of beach facing the mainland, wondering if others might wander across the land bridge.

Indeed, someone was crossing it as Caracal approached the spot where the sandbar met the isle. He stopped at the junction and stared at the figure, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It looked like a cross between a bundle of seaweed and some mummified driftwood, magically animated and carrying a fish.

Had Caracal known what it meant, he might’ve made the sign of the cross or thrown some holy water at it. As it was, he could only gape as the peculiarity came closer.