Wheeling Gull Isle slow down, it’s a science.

she came to the earth in the manner of a dropped stone. her gums clicked unpleasantly. a chatter ricocheted in her skull. 

her last image was hierophant’s needling eyes; then her eyes closed and her vision petered to black. 

she was aware of unpleasantry making its camp at the base of her chin. a scrape’s rough burn made its mark in her skin. she fumbled upright, the den oscillating. 

had the world always been so crooked?

accipitra had no means to ward off this newfound disorientation. while hierophant studied her mistrustfully, she simply slouched — temporarily disarmed and disengaged as she wrestled with the spinning of her world.