Wheeling Gull Isle The Apocryphon of John

He was a man unlike any she had seen before — and from where she lurked among shadows, Blue felt herself grow warm at the ears and filled with some odd frenetic fluttering just beneath her breastbone. Suddenly shy and unsure of herself, she lingered. He was pretty. And Blue, she was only a plain girl, too thin and too pale and lacking any luster to her fur.

But this island is mine, she reminded herself, slipping from the shadows in silence. His back to her, the man watched the sea. Her own indigo gaze lingered at the dark curls round his nape, passing over him and finding, lower, that beautiful brindling at his — !

Ears hot now, she averted her gaze. All plastic-made poise, the very picture of cool and unbothered, Blue drew up alongside him with eyes turned to the ocean. She thought of trying to greet him, but the words caught in her throat all dry and thorny before she even knew what words they might be. So she kept her own counsel, hoping that it might read as mysterious rather than socially inept.