Wheeling Gull Isle Two Storms

They walk on, following an old footpath down the hillside. The land is fertile, kept green by frequent rains. There are few threats on the isle yet still the boy sorts scents as they move, identifying everything but the musk of other wolves. They are alone still.

He drinks in the salt as they ascend to the sea and gives a louder, nearly playful explanation, “Gonna teach you to hunt.”

Hunting on the island is different from the inlands, requiring more observation than finesse. The still exposed tide pools gleam beneath the morning light as Judah clambers over the sweating lavastone embankment, the sole foreleg speared out in front to catch his weight. Racharra is tall and athletic beside him and Judah’s curses his limp.

“You’ll recognize what’s safe to eat by knowing where things grow and what they look like,” mismatched eyes peer to Racharra, wondering if the mainland girl would care to know this. He crouches in front of a small pool teeming with life, a little microcosm of the greater oceans. “General rule- if it’s colorful leave it be. You’re looking for shells that blend with the rocks.”

"What do you see?” He asks, turning his chin towards her. She's near enough for him to smell her; sweet and ripe he can scent it perfectly. His jaw flexes and and he flicks his eyes quickly back to the water.