Wheeling Gull Isle One of the foremost modern experts on tonal architecture

Dinah hadn't been far when she'd heard the shriek.
Always the sea, always; always scanning for rocks, watching the birds and their patterns of flight, the way their wings moved; studying the flora and their different colors, what they looked like as the seasons changed; the leaves upon the trees as they began to rust.
And as tiny and fragile as her thread of connection to the darklings was, when it tugged, she went careening with it.
By the time she arrived, the screams had stilled, and Dinah worried that perhaps her sibling was already dead. But to her surprise — relief? — she was merely sitting; watching.
Ana, she plunders forth on gangling limbs as she investigates with a high-strung snuffle, her breath coming in heaves from how fast she'd run, sand coating up to her ribs. what happened? You-- a pause, you're bleeding.