Wheeling Gull Isle Life’s a beach.

His mother was someone he always had looked up to, both because he was still small, and because she was just a good person to him.

She said they reminded her of a younger her and Uncle-father figure Phox. A bit of pride kindled in his chest at the comparison, the boy puffing up proudly.

And then, a final suggestion. A beach day. The finality settled beside the pride in his chest, and Sable nodded.

Beach day. A mischievous quirk of his lips as he reached over to nudge his sister.

Race you to the water. Then, he was off like a shot, silently cackling.