Wheeling Gull Isle You are my anchor, so steady me, steady me now

can be a cameo! i don't want to hold anything up! <3

there is confusion.

unfamiliarity.

not so much in sights, for the sight does not improve in saint's blind, milkspun silver eye. and hadn't had much time to improve in their good eye ...

but in smells.

all was unfamiliar. not milkmother.

and the sickeningly sweet scent of the berries! it turned their stomach and they refused to eat. anything. sweet mothersmilk is what they craved.

saint lets their anger known in sharp cries of rejection, of disapproval, of maddening rage as they are carted 'round, torn from the familiar scent of mother and suffering the cleanse of tongue.

they are filthy, desperate in their need of a bathe but they rage against this, too.