Wheeling Gull Isle when life’s moving too fast, we can make this dream last

His grin expands from ear-to-ear and he smudges his cheek along one of Caracal’s huge golden arms.

“Papaaaaa,” he coos in a little happy song. He is drunk off giddiness! All this attention from his father made him feel like he was a very special pup! This was his Papa!

He wants to sink into the arms of his father, but even the most tender of nudges wrenches him from this moment in the sunshine and shoves him into a nightmare. The world darkens and he is unable to see what is beyond his dim sight. Caracal’s arms are now talons, his voice a demonic croon: do you trust me?

A little heart with terror bumps, a bristling noise caught in his throat. He closes his eyes against the monstrous night, unable now to know what is real or imagined or if there’s anything difference at all between them.

“Twust you Papa,” he’ll whine, but it wasn’t just Papa, it was Leviathan too.