Wheeling Gull Isle amen

Towhee refused to leave her son’s side. He was clean and dry now, though he still looked like a corpse. He’d somehow survived the night but she feared he would not last another. Any effort to dribble food or water into his mouth had less than promising results and she sensed that he was beyond help. She would stay until he took a turn, one way or the other.

She was staring into space when Caracal’s dry, cracked lips moved, just barely. It was impossible to guess what he was saying, if anything. Towhee bent over him as if listening and felt his breath, gentle and warm against her cheek. She blindly found his nearer paw and grasped at it.