Wheeling Gull Isle Two Storms

Judah stood a little distant, like a shepherd keeping vigil over one of his flock, ears ticking to nearby caws and the steady thrum of windswept leaves overhead. But there was no danger this morning. They were alone on the island.

Racharra was quick to pick up the tactic he’d shown, dividing the scallop shells into two halves with ease. He’d seen her strength under moonlight but he couldn’t help to notice how the sun was running it’s beams along the muscles in her shoulders.

The bounty was quickly ebbing. He was debating whether or not to go out for more when her voice rose again, clearer this time.

His shoulders raise into something of a shrug and he dips his nose just once- a universal inference of don’t mention it.

For all his reservation, the boy was relieved to see her in good spirits. He wanted to tell her the tide would be out until noon, that she’d better get going if she wanted to make it back to mainland before the waters rose once more. But the words didn’t come. For the first time he considered how empty the isle was. How very isolated he felt. How he was reluctant for her to leave- a stranger, who he didn’t know a thing about.

Judah reached his arm back, the unsightly one with the nub, and tucked it behind the other. “How’d you end up out here anyway?” He flicked his ears forward, in full accord of her now.