Wheeling Gull Isle Hurry up tomorrow

A shadow falls over the reed walls. The wind outside is suddenly so still. Tme stagnates. The night produces monsters and cowards.

Into solid ice he stills with only a shivering note of fear trifling between tongue and teeth. In a single abrupt fall he trundles himself into the tightest ball possible; paws cradling head, nose into belly, and tail curling up around his shoulder.

Not real, not real!