Wheeling Gull Isle awake my soul

The fact that he'd survived was some kind of miracle. That he was found by someone like Strand and appropriately nursed back to health made him feel as if he had been granted some kind of leniency by the fates, or by god, or by something outside of himself. There had to be a reason he had not died that day on the cliffside. He was meant for more — or that's what Firefly had chosen to believe as he focused on his recovery. The world was his for the taking and he need only gather his strength.

For now, he basked in the sunlight. Let it soak in to his prone figure as he lay sphynx-like upon a single exposed rock face, watching the sand spread out before him like a great wasteland. His theater for battle, more like. The southern expanse lead away from the island and gradually wedged to a high-point where the sand remained dry (for the most part); he could see something dark on the horizon and turned to focus his good eye upon it.

The light flickered. Gathered there, almost coalescing in to the shape of a young man. The wind whistled past one of Firefly's ears and sought out the stranger, buffeting their coat as they walked. The waiting beast watched - preparing himself for the eventuality of their meeting - until the boy was nearer. Firefly cleared his throat. One might anticipate riddles to come flooding from him like the mythical creature he currenty resembled, but instead all he said was, What're you doing here?