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

their voices pool together and it is a moment like thousands of others over time — two souls, one climbing note that punctures the heavens.

except they were small, and the zenith of their heavens was the dirt packed roof above. accipitra felt her brother’s howl grow and rise and it is this which gives her call some tenor; not alone, not solo — together.

her lips clap shut and her voice is no longer, but her tail wags and her eyes come to rest inquisitively upon her playmate.