Turtle Island salt whispering

can be a cameo!

going out to sea was, by far, his greatest mistake.

qapnuk was not a seabird; he had his work, though, and the wind carried him from point to point while he attended to body after body. work was never done. there was always somewhere he could go, bones to pick at and—oh!

there was blood scent. it was hard to find among the salt. something else... milk? maybe milk. something sweet, at any rate. a beat of his wings and he was soaring across the channel, to a spit of land that looked far from inviting.

there was at least one tree there that could support his weight, he thought—and so he aimed for it, and touched down minutes later. the bulk of his belly crushed against weaker branches, snapping them like finger bones; and when the momentary chaos subsides, he is settled.

his bald face lifts from the cover of some branches, angling for a better view of his surroundings. with a huff—what would emit from his beak was more of a shrill croak and a click—he saw mostly flatness and... a wolf?