Wheeling Gull Isle Touch

“I know,” he speaks after some time. His voice is hollow. A nod acknowledges the challenge ahead.

No; learning to swim would not be easy.

His father has more to say. Judah’s eyes trail up into dad’s face, partly concealed but a layer of seaborn haze. Even then it is easy to recognize the mind at work, choosing carefully words that sound so strange upon reception. He only heard the implications: follow, leave, surrender. Give up on his father.

No; staying would not be easy.

“I want to be with you,” he whispered earnestly. There was no place else he’d be. So long as Caracal was willing to fight it out, Judah would be by his side.

A step brought them closer and the man’s son met him with an expression of hope while low tide revealed mysteries of the sandbar and the patient seabreeze whispered through them both.