Wheeling Gull Isle kongeda

heda did not answer right away. she was facing out to sea, out to the great vital dark expanse with all its secrets and dangers, her love shimmering upon its surface with the sunlight. did bartholomew think of this place, wherever god had led him?
surely so.
"i think i want to rest here, on the shore, caracal," she spoke at last in a small, odd, faint voice as she waded back to shore. "i want to pray."
prayer for heda was a silent communion, something she shared with no one since the man of god. she knew she ought to bring caracal into it, and she meant to do so. but the still small voice so soothed heda that she did not have words to repeat. her golden eyes looked in question at her husband.