Wheeling Gull Isle reach out, touch faith

A new day dawned, the sun peeking out behind some clouds and spreading its light across the island. The air was breezy and cool after yesterday’s tempest, warming quickly as the tide pulled out to sea. It took with it the last of the clouds, leaving the sun by itself in endless blue.

Caracal stirred late into the morning, on the hilltop across from his family’s den. Towhee had insisted he stay there after finding him in a state last night. He felt a bit bad about that but he was glad she’d made him get some sleep. He’d desperately needed it.

He made his way to the den now, where he found his mother sleeping nearby in his stead. Caracal padded past her and peeked inside, counting heads. The four little ones and Judah were there, though @Simeon, Malakai and Dinah must’ve left to wander the island.

Caracal retreated, trotting downhill toward the north side of the island. Today, he sought his eldest son. He thought about how Simeon and Dinah had nearly drowned, only to be saved by a stranger. He was thankful John had been there—he would be a great addition to Sweetharbor—but he should’ve been there for his kids.

Four had been demanding enough, eight was just cruel. Caracal felt stretched so thin, it was no wonder Dinah felt neglected. The others probably felt the same. And there was nothing he could do but try his best and send up silent pleas for God’s help.