Wheeling Gull Isle tilakurak

A flurry of movement drew his attention at the last second, as he was trying to grasp one of the thistle-plants with his teeth while avoiding the prickles on his tongue (a ridiculous game, and an unsuccessful one); white and orange and black, fluttering up and away.

The boy gave up on his examination of the plants and romped closer. He had to be careful around the thistles, but he found patches where they grew thinly or not at all, and drew closer, until he found -- well, he wasn't sure.

It looked very much like a shag carpet had eaten someone's doll. Or, and this was more in line with what Mojag might be thinking: here lay a wolf, once, until the flowers got so hungry as to pierce and drain it. There was barely enough cohesion to their body for Mojag to see who, or what, it was.

You're the ghost lady, he blurts next, staring down at her; she did not look so good, but Heda had said she was missing something, and Bartholomew had been helping her.

Are you still... sad?