Wheeling Gull Isle Some kind of change, some kind of spinning away.

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Gramma Towhee was a confusing woman, Dinah thought. She speaks with hands and says weird things. Nevertheless, she loved her all the same.
You're welcome! she exclaims, a rosiness to little baby cheeks that had slowly begun to narrow into a more wolven headshape.
She thinks on it, for a good moment: was it weird that she and her brothers had free reign over the Isle? She would not know. She knew nothing else. Being locked in the den sounds boring, she tuts, her little rump coming to a flop in the sand beside Towhee. I'm almost two, anyway. That means I'm all grown up! She thinks about what she knows being two means. Mama turned two recently, too. Did Dinah have to have babies on her own now? Her lip juts out in a pout. I don't think I'm ready to have babies though. I don't even know where to find them.
And then, the golden question, one a little God-fearing child should probably never ask: What does shit mean?