Wheeling Gull Isle seigeda

In most scenarios, Dinah Redhawk was a well-behaved girl, or so she liked to think. Rarely did she fight or disobey, cause arguments; but as she feels the gritty sands of home between her toes, a sinking, insidious churn began to claw at her gut. Something wasn't right. The seabirds are erratic, swarming; the isle itself mysteriously and eerily quiet.
Anger still clings viscerally to Dinah's bones. In her head, the soft rasp of love you from sister now gone; to Simeon does she give a worried glance, and along with her she ushers Ava, if she so wished. She was not going to be a sitting duck. Not ever again, not anymore, heart thudding fast and vicious.
She follows her Mama before there is even a chance for her to be stopped. Softly, quietly behind at first, before she, too, begins to join her in the throaty call of Judah's name. Ju! Juju? and the longer the silence roves, the more the horrible, horrible dread built. She feels as if she may vomit. Tired, angry, numb, numb, numb — where was he?
Near the lion's den was where the crumpled figure of father lays, and for a split second, Dinah did not recognize him. Her heart leaps right up to her throat; not in fear, but in an encapsulating, horrible guilt.
What had she done to him? What had he done to her?
Daddy! a choked cry flies from her mouth, something raw and violent and tragic, and all sense of self seems to evaporate as she frantically tries to scoop his muddied, frail figure into her arms.