Wheeling Gull Isle Silence lay steadily

“No. Home is the island. And I’m not following God. I’m following you.”

With that, the boy is silent, staring intently ahead, pushing his leg faster to keep pace when the muscles cry out with added strain. He limps away from everything that calls him kin, trying not to think of home and what lay beneath its weather- the rolling green hills and briney coastlines, and Malakai who would stand in wait of his return.

Black-tipped ears don’t even tick towards John, barely hearing the man when he speaks.

Roll downhill. Judah scoffs. Yeah, that's one way to put it.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he clips and drives onward as if to prove a point.

I can cover more ground on three legs than any other can on four.