Wheeling Gull Isle solitude

Ooh, thank you! It’s beauteous, as always.

The views and Heda’s voice competed for his attention, though ultimately he found himself gazing mostly at her. He vaguely remembered some tension between Heda and Mahler when she had sought out the man’s help, though a lot of that recollection was buried in the embarrassment he’d felt over his own reaction to Mahler.

Her story continued, leading her to Ensio and then Bartholomew, who’d helped her manage her emotions. It sounded like they’d decided to move to the island together. Heda spoke in vague terms and Caracal didn’t quite catch on that she referred to a disbanded pack, at least until she mentioned the word “rebuild.”

Oh man, he said, an inadequate response to everything. Caracal shook his head lightly and added, I’ve been everywhere and nowhere in particular. Once I got used to this, he said, indicating his eye, I kept traveling. I’ve been so many places, met a lot of interesting people along the way. It’s been pretty great. I’d say I’d wish you were there with me but it kinda sounds like it was for the best that we split up.

He admired the sage hillocks ahead of them briefly before saying, You mentioned confronting Mahler. How did that go?

It occurred to him that if Bartholomew had come into the picture and helped her with her—understandable, he felt—anger, then it probably hadn’t gone very well. His lips pursed and he shot her an apologetic frown.