Wheeling Gull Isle Hurry up tomorrow

The reeds were pushed.

Inside, a tiny wolf with a hidden face and shaking tail. Curled, wrapped away as if he were a shattered trinket in a violent sea. For his pieces, he searched and clung to for dear life. How sad- and pitiful. He gave his pity.

Before his mighty voice called through the brush in a low rumble in the holy night. "You've no need to fear me," he commanded, coaxing the little one towards his relaxation. They were tranquil. There was no need for dramatics. "We share the same moon tonight." It did. When the reeds shook and chimed as he removed his head, moonlight touched through the cracks and blanketed lines across Judah.

Turning his flank to the entry, he looked with expanding intrigue. "Your soul is innovative. You've made something for impression." For his work, he complimented it in whole-heart. He imagined the work upon his tiny feet and frail teeth had been quite a toll. He looked over each decorative piece from the outside- or how its decor of earthly binds blended so naturally to its surrounding world. Little would have drawn him to put eyes upon it, if not for footprints. He'd seen little of the inside, and he would not peer further with his petrification.