Wheeling Gull Isle I'm mostly confused about the world I live in.

He felt more and more like a ghost as the days passed by. That was usually a good thing; when he'd lost himself before, when his tether was Maegi and Maegi alone, he ghosted through the moments when they were apart and relished the time they spent together. When the flood of memories had overrun the rest of him, Mou had been lost — but there was Maegi again, keeping him within the confines of reality. They had abandoned the world they knew to make a stake of their own — and then in losing it, Mou went back to being a spectre. Together they had roamed. Together they found themselves here, ready to restart once more.

And yet here he was, falling in to old habits.

He could go to her now and things would be alright. Maegi was growing fat with their future and he was glad for that. He did his duty as her husband: kept her energy levels up with fresh food, kept her warm through the cold winter nights, brought her trinkets and flower buds when spring finally erupted.

Something inescapable was tugging at him. It had started when the smoke rose on the horizon that day — the imagined smell of cinders everywhere, risen like a tide in his mind that drowned his dreams. The woods were quiet here but sometimes Mou could swear he could hear the crackling of flames. Even now, with the light beginning to fade with an early dusk, the transitional dimming of the sky's colors only evinced one image: a doomed earth, salted and burned.

And so he roamed, keeping his head down and his thoughts to himself.