Wheeling Gull Isle racharra sees a ghost

The girl gives thanks and her voice is youthful. As she sits, Judah sinks back into his heels. How tall, and strong, nothing like mom or dad or the wolves he’d met on the dragoncrest coast. Had kinder judgment prevailed he may not have stared so wordlessly long. Behind him his tail flickers in thought. He’s done what he needed- the girl is drenched, but seemingly fine. She wont die out there in the waves. Still, his good conscience couldn’t leave her to shiver here all night in the open, where her coat would never dry.

For the first time he takes his eyes off her to regard the sea.

“Tide’s in. Won't be out til sun up.” Lack of use had contorted his voice, which tolls dry and nasally; odd even to his own ears. He pushes up and backs off a few steps, shifting in direction of the ravine.

Over his shoulder he grunts, in essence, an invitation for the girl to follow him.