Wheeling Gull Isle this is the part where you run

The isle's namesake bird left the netted lump as soon as the wolves emerged. They knew not to trifle with the beasts. Younger variants continued to hover out of reach, carried on currents of dry air, but even they knew not to impede the terrestrial creatures with their many teeth and bad attitudes; should the lump prove to be a source of food, they would likely try to scavenge - but for now, peace.

Once the body had been pulled from the slick wet mess where it had been lodged, something did change. Blame it on fortuitous timing or the shaking of the body as the sisters jostled it; once free upon the sand the wolf awoke. They felt the pinch of teeth upon nape - took a snorting breath through their nose, and abruptly began to cough and spasm.

With a tilt of her head the wolf retched, arching her spine, feeling the pit of her belly clench and roll. Legs tucked in and then unfurled as she kicked the air blindly, trying to get away from whatever force held her; eyes flying open in panic, and then vomit - not hot and warm as one might expect, but cold and soggy and black like tar. Wet sand oozing from her throat.