Wheeling Gull Isle belief

tags for those i'm hoping to snag another thread with, but anyone welcome <3

the air was cold.

the clouds shrouded any sun from sight. autumn was well and truly here, the chill that followed it a sign of the time. still the island flourished.

sweetharbor.

@Miseria was the newest among them, a face he looked forward to teaching more. mo (@Mojag) had seemed to take to life on the island. hunting the coastlines or daring to splash along the shore.

but today he stood upon the northern shores.

watched as the sea seemed uneased by something beyond his knowledge. perhaps something would wash ashore, something for the hunters to drag inland.

for now, he began a soft humming string of morning prayers.

he prayed for @a corpse first, as he usually did.

he had not forgotten how she dwelled in the lion's den still.

The boy romped on his own, more and more, and did not mind the solitude; he would return to share a meal with Heda and the priest, and had learned not to ask about the Lion's Den and the woman who lived within it.

Today, roaming beneath a gathering storm, Mojag found the scent of Bartholomew to the north of the island. Mojag hadn't gone that far north yet and was intrigued. He ventured that way until the cold sand of the beach met his feet, and then prowled with greater care than before - until he spotted the slender figure of the man, and he moved a little quicker.

Just as Mojag came upon him, he slowed and became quiet. He had learned back home to be respectful of the spaces people occupied - and especially so for spirit-talkers; but he gave a small chuff of greeting, and watched the man watch the sky. What did he see?

it was hunter mo who came across him.

morning prayers placed on pause, but he found he did not mind. nor would God mind, he imagined. the heavens did not operate on a schedule and this was a moment to do good anyway.

come, he beckoned the boy closer with a soft sweeping motion of his head.

tell me what you see, mo.

spoken just barely over the crashing waves.

The man did not seem disturbed, which was good. He welcomed Mo closer and the boy happily acquiesced. While he wondered to himself, Bartholomew expected an answer. The boy didn't know what to say - he looked out to the wind-whipped sky, bruised purple and blue and gray, and the agitated sea.

It sounds angry, he explained. The water. It -- the sky too. It looks like, when I came to the island. Bruises. He frowned and looked at the man, but the look did not stay grim for long, as present company gave him something to be pleased about.

It smells good, though.

he laughed, warm and slightly humored.

the boy seemed to take well to things. making light of the dark. perhaps that was why he had found his way to sweetharbor. God's plan. regardless he welcomed the boy fully.

it does, doesn't it? his nostrils flared, soaking in the scents. we should figure a name for this northern point. i do not think many have visited here, if any.

there was hardly anything here besides the sea, anyway.

Mojag looked around and saw only the chaos of the sea, which to him was frightening, but at the same time it was sort-of pretty; it did smell good, and he liked to think this area was nice when it was calm, you just had to find it on the right day.

We could call it... Here, his face scrunched with thought.

Hmm, I don't know. All the words I know are from my anaa, so they won't mean much to you. That didn't dissuade him though. The boy looked inquisitively towards Bartholomew and remembered rather suddenly, another name he'd given while on the island: Psalm! Heda and I found a turtle and named him Psalm. Maybe something like that?

words from his anaa.

bartholomew may have welcomed them if it made the boy feel more at home. besides, not everyone even understood bartholomew's own words!

but the boy sprang to life. speaking of heda and turtles — and psalms! the priest's eyes lit to life. pleased to hear all of this! especially heda teaching the boy such words.

maybe it is psalm's point. maybe he will live here and we can sing to him when he comes to shore. his eyes twinkled with delight, but he left the true decision to the boy alongside him.

The boy's tail fanned the air behind himself, and he grew animate, excited. He was glad to have found a solution - and to have a place to come and sing for his friend, the turtle!

Really?! He hopped from paw to paw, and then after a few beats of this calmed himself as best he could, so as not to bother the man. I will tell Heda! Do you sing often? I used to, a lot. His thoughts jumped from place to place just like his happy feet.

he had come to learn that mo truly was a boy in every sense of the word. in the best ways. lively, active. curious but kind.

it was hard to not feel a paternal yearning when he looked upon the boy.

but bartholomew was without wife, without sons. sweetharbor was his family now. nestled carefully in the expanse of his heart. guarded by his faith.

i am shy about my singing. his eyes wrinkled with humor. my singing voice is not nearly as kind on the ears as my talking one.

what do you sing about, mo?

Shy? He didn't know that word! Nobody would have described Mojag as such, and his family were so open and expressive in their ways, it was not something familiar to him. But he saw the bashful way the man comported himself and understood he was nervous of his voice, and thought that was quite sad.

I would sing all kinds of things! My anaa says I started singing before I could talk, which was true, and natural, but his was a prolific sort of performance that had kept the people of Moonglow from sleeping well; how thankful they must be that he is older now, or far away!

He went quiet a second, diminished by a thought. I should be learning the hunting songs now. But that's okay, I can always show you - and Heda, and everyone - the songs that I have made!

If he was destined to be a hunter one day, he'd learn the songs. His life was disordered now that he'd been swept away from all he knew.

he remembered the cries of a den, still. if he thought about it he remembered the way his sons had howled and babbled, singing every day and night.

he had thought he would never sleep again!

perhaps mo's anaa had experienced the same.

you should. a good voice should not be wasted. a piece of advice for the growing boy. you could come here even, sing your songs for psalm, but also for the island.

He was grinning at the suggestion, and looking out at the northern cape of the island with a renewed enthusiasm. He saw nothing out there but water and rage, but inside himself he felt calm and content; perhaps by singing he could calm the sea itself?

Maybe if I can sing loud enough, my anaa will hear me. It was a vain wish, of course. Not only was his voice too weak to contend with the roiling sea, but he would be sending his messages away to the endlessness around them. It would be like singing to the dead - or from the dead, more like.

maybe.

bartholomew felt a long, solemn stretch in his chest for the boy. wayward from his mother. lost his father. but sweetharbor would nurture him, tend to him as a community should.

he would be safe here until somebody showed, until the boy grew too big for the nest. yet some part of bartholomew would loathe to see the day the boy may leave them on his hunting quest.

there is a new face on the island. he spoke to the boy as he would any adult of the island. age did not dictate maturity. i think she is a bit...unsure. but she is not like the woman of the lion's den. perhaps your singing might help her?

he did not wish to presume too much, yet he did all the same.

Bartholomew spoke of a new face on the island. The boy hadn't noticed any new scents, but to him the island was huge and there was much still unexplored; but to hear from the man about this, the newcomer was a nervous sort.

He was glad to be of use. I'll try, if you think it would help! And even if it didn't, Mojag would be glad to make another friend. He wondered what the newcomer was like - beyond the limited description, was she like him and lost? Or had she come here on purpose? He was full of questions - but all the same, knew when to ask them and when not to.

The boy was bright-eyed and eager.

tag for reference/info <3

i am glad you are here with us, mo.

praise, meaningful beyond simple words. the boy was a kind face to new faces, just as heda and jasmine could be guiding hands.

miseria would be in good company.

come on. let us find @Heda and tell her of psalm's point, hm?

The boy glowed as he sauntered alongside Bartholomew, eager to find Heda and tell her all about the singing place.

He hummed a tune that was ingrained in him from childhood; wordless, light, which reminded him of home, and for a moment it didn't hurt.