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

He smushes his eyes shut.

“Twust Papa,” he’ll repeat, over and over again.

He’s raised, floating in the clutches of the beast. It slips into the caring embrace of his father as he’s soothed by Caracal’s steady immanence.

Finally he opens his eyes, to blink up into his big golden face, like a sun. He draws his tiny arms around his father’s neck.

“Dey owny show me, Papa. Dey don show anybowdy else. Dey wait till you an Ami go sleep an dey staw at me. Righ dewre.” He raises a trembling paw and points at the empty space right behind his daddy.