Wheeling Gull Isle Oh my friends, my friends forgive me….

tension, on the winds of an autumnal sea which slowly turned from summertime warmth. heda had been musing a specific anxiety about, and it was that wintertime upon their island might not be so safe, if she recalled the storms from other years.
she had not yet brought it to her lord in prayer, and it was this fact for which heda would come to fiercely blame herself later: a wavering in her faith.
everett's voice was instructional but worrisome; the mother put away meat which she had been portioning for her brood and swept down the waving greenhills to find the caller turning away, and, "john?" heda said wonderingly, a tailwave assuring him of peace. "oh! you're hurt, what —" voice stilling as she saw his expression, and dread thrummed in her.