Wheeling Gull Isle a million little gods causing rainstorms

The body was a mess, but it was lucky too. The fall from such great heights had pulverized parts of it — broken ribs, cracked the pelvis — and then the subsequent tossing of the body through the water, and its slam across the irregular shore where it had been netted by weeds and forgotten, left limbs twisted at odd degrees and various lacerations from the stone across the flesh. The chances of this amounting to any form of life, even after many months of rehabilitation, were slim. Surely the wolves that gathered were aware of this — did they dare take the chance to save an old friend from the eternal sleep? Could they? Time would tell.

For now, blood continued to seep from the deep wound upon the body's throat; with some tending, Maegi had managed to prevent excessive blood loss beyond what had already occurred — but the poor mass was soaking in salt water, struggling to autonomously breathe, and would not be long for the world without intervention (perhaps even a miracle).