Wheeling Gull Isle dance with me and shake your bones.

a trickle of sunlight spilled by the entryway. accipitra’s eyes trained to the streaking motes, the dozen blurring bugs. 

instinct bid her to chase, but upon the threshold a cloud obscured the sun’s hazing rays and accipitra was left in a pool of dim cold. 

she slyly turned her gaze back to the den. her new-mother was attentive, but with seven other children to lord over, her attention could sometimes be divided. several times now her attempts of jailbreak had been thwarted — but today no voice boomed from the dark bay bidding her back. 

accipitra took wing; or rather, she fell from the threshold itself and stumbled into a thicket of ferns. there she stopped stunned by this new world, her nose twitching as little molecules of scent told her someone — @Towhee — was near.