Wheeling Gull Isle i. don't you love it?

the man with the mask like her lived on in her mind. he had looked normal; kind even. the lost darkling child mourned for a connection that would never be.

she trailed hviske. she kept to the weeds, ignoring the heavy scent of lavender as it trickled in her nose. she was curious - where was he going, what was he doing? but she was too shy to make herself known.

behind hviske, a tussock of lavender rattled with a tiny sneeze.