Wheeling Gull Isle Silence lay steadily

The sea rolled angrily in the morning, the rough waves crashing against a toiled beach. The sky was a pale grey, and a cool wind blew as John neared the beach, where the tall figure of Judah strode up to the side of John, and John looked to the young man, understanding and hope in his eyes. 

“Then we shall go, Judah. Come, God shall lead us home.”

John took one last look upon the island, and he had said his farewells, and with him now, he carried his fur sack that he’d traveled with. It carried just enough meat for the journey and lavender from the field of Caracal, a gift for Heda and for his den that Druid had promised to have ready upon his return.

When the land bridge had revealed itself to the two young men, John led, like Moses had led the Israelites across the Red Sea. There wasn’t much conversation between them, but John wanted to know; “If I may, what happened to your leg? I had been isolated in the Lion’s den last fall after things began to roll downhill. “