Wheeling Gull Isle Messengers don't sleep

The man signs. Judah’s fangs grit, seeing it only as some sloppy mainlander tactic to curry favor with the islanders. He looks on, two-toned eyes narrowed into disgruntled slits, until it is Towhee’s name he speaks, and that she lives!

The fire flows out of him. Quickly a collision is made against Mal’s ribs, snout snuffling into the silver down of his twin’s chest with a relieved whine, locking eyes still with the auburn stranger, but now in wide-eyed inquisition.

“How hurt is she? Is she gonna be ok?” He asks, winded, peeking up timidly from the edge of his brother’s identical shoulder.