Wheeling Gull Isle flapkrasha

last for me!

His mother fades behind a green bluff. He hears the giddy squeals of his siblings at the promise of new playthings. There’s a persistent wind sweeping forward, into the mouth of the lion.

Judah stares long into that abyss.

Then he dashes up into the hills, sheets of sand adrift in his wake and with a call of “Wai fow me!”