Wheeling Gull Isle always laughing in the midst of power

@Ying! ^^

floating, intangible, removed. detached, she dreams, of shadows with the universe for eyes, old gods and lost places. stories warp, grow, are lit with life. the body is still, and then the crow alights nearby. steps nearer, ever cautious, and tugs with sharp beak at the dark bloodied fur. the corvid withdraws, waiting for a reaction that does not come. it steps near again, this time delivering a more aggressive snap of it's beak. 

the girl plummets back into her body, tensing against the pain. the body shifts, quiet sounds of pain slipping from agape jaws. the corvid is gone with a flap of its wings but settles in a nearby conifer, patient. gaze opens a fraction, and she begins anew the pain-laced process of dragging herself into a position in which to drink from the creek she's been deposited besides, throat raw and wanting.

she’d seen many wolves approach death’s door, but none with wounds like this. ying assumed that the girl was already dead based on the strong scent of decay, and only stepped from the foliage to investigate upon hearing those pitiful cries of protest.

still, she held to the background, watching in silence as the scavenger continued its attack. ying admired her strong will, her willingness to fight off fate, but knew in her heart that one could only fight for so long.

she wanted to give the girl a fighting chance. ying walked closer to her backside, watching the sparse canopy to track the bird’s steps. 你快死了, she said, voice emotionless and still, do you understand that?

it takes her a moment to pinpoint the woman's location. words stretch, slide along on air currents until she is not entirely sure where they'd come from. her eyelids pull back a little further, dull gaze seeking. muzzle rises, craning to catch a glimpse of her next antagonist. already, lips curl back feebly. 

"no. no." the words are thick, bulky, and she finds it difficult to form her mouth around them. exhales, gathers herself. "do not touch me. do not." which each thing that comes to set its fangs against her, whether it be the sea or the wolves on this isle, she feels herself slipping; and she has so little ground left.

don’t want to touch you, she explained, but the birds do. ying’s place wasn’t as an enemy, but as a guard; until someone else came along to claim the girl, she would remain there for added protection. 

ying fell silent, then opened her mouth to ask, what happened? skin had been torn, exposing the muscle which lined contorted limbs. it didn’t look like all of this had been done during a single encounter, but how could she be sure?

still, she is wary. the midnight-pelted had struck suddenly and without warning, vicious in her calibrated intent. there is no reason she should trust the woman here now not to do the same. togue passes over her lips, dry and cracked, mistrust etched into every line of her features. 

she is slow to answer, the first time she had, she'd been attacked. moments pass, but words come all the same. "the sea," she offers, hating the effort demanded by the simple words. "and then orochi," a breath, and a moment passes before she continues. "his mother, the dark woman." her throat burns, a blooming headache adding to her hurts, but she will not drink beneath the gaze of this stranger when she could so easily force her head beneath the stream, wet her fangs against her undefended body. this time, she is prepared, tensing should any of this information incite the woman to attack.

there had been several attacks on the woman’s body, and yet she lived. ying might have considered the effort to hoard life futile, but knew that she owed some respect for the great effort it must have taken. would she have been willing to endure the same?

adjusting herself, she took on a slightly less imposing posture to give the stranger some comfort. i’m impressed, ying admitted, you must be strong. but she was also young, and ying could not help but to wonder how she’d ended up in this situation.

did a nurse help you? she asked next. surely, there was someone on this island who knew about the art of medicine and healing, if only to soothe the pain.

it does not. her hatred is a simmering, ever-growing thing, but it is still reasoned by logic. thus far, this woman has done nothing to earn, and so while she holds close her rage as if to protect her further, it is not directed towards this woman. still, she offers no response to the first few words; there is nothing impressive about her broken body. 

the second earned a barely-discernable nod. the dark nymph, with the seaglass eyes. without the promised doctor, hela would have likely become victim to the ghost a fever that still lurked beneath her skin. a pause, gathering breath, and then, "what is your name?" 

ying’s praise went unanswered, but seemingly not unnoticed. she could understand the need for humility; pride had no place upon one’s deathbed. so, she did not acknowledge the lapse in conversation, instead allowing the topic to shift.

yinglong, she said, you? this woman must have been new, or newer, which did bring the dragon some comfort. they were both foreigners to this island, though very different ways.

a beat of silence, and then, "kynareth." her name does not belong to this broken body, and she will not give this island any more of her. gaze settles on the woman, considering, a moment longer. 

"why do you live here; on this island." isolated, bleak, smelling always of brine and lacking some of those familiar prey-scents from the mainland. why have these wolves chosen this rock set in the sea; why do they isolate themselves here? she will come to know all she can about them, she has since decided.

why do you live here, on this island? — how could one answer such a question? her brow became tightly knit, framing her face with a palpable disdain not for kynareth; no, but for the acknowledgement of her state of loss.

ying grieved for something which she thought might have been found here, on this island, but it wasn’t. why was she here?

none of that would have made any sense to this woman, though. she softened her features, cleared her throat, and mumbled some unintelligible apology. my spirit says this is home, ying explained, and i listen, because it knows more than me.