Wheeling Gull Isle fall back into place

“Dinah,” he chokes. It can’t be. She isn’t real. He couldn’t add her to his growing list of delusions. He stares dumfounded into that golden face.

“Dinah,” the boy whispers again. It feels as though he’s never said her name before.

Suddenly, her presence is overwhelming. He needs her; needs to hold her, to smell her, to know she is well and unharmed, that she is alive. He rolls onto his belly, clawing at the tufts of lavender, coming to a trembling stand. He nearly falls when his leg gives out, but catches his stride and staggers forward. He limps to her, daring not even a blink, for the eventuality that this was all a trick of his mind, and she was soon to vanish with the wind. But she remains there, ahead of him; within reach.

With one arm draws her into his chest, sliding his chin down her back, breathing in her familiar scent. She’s real. A sob rips from his throat. Dimly, he is aware of a hot pain rising in the deformed leg, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to release her.

He had Dinah back, and he was never letting her go again.