Wheeling Gull Isle pisatuntema

Tags are for reference. Anyone can join!

@Bartholomew had gone to the mainland. He had asked if Mo would follow, or @Heda, or anyone, and at once Mojag wanted to say yes, please, let me!

But then he came to the land-bridge and saw the water. He felt very small. It was a feeling Mojag did not like, and did not know how to stop. He retreated far enough up the beach after that, and would not go.

---

A day or two later, when the man had not yet returned, Mojag could be found hunting among the trees. His heart was not in it. He found many smells that could be food, and spent more time thinking than acting upon his hunter's instinct, which was not normal for him.

He thought about visiting the sad woman, but then didn't do that either. Seeing the sad woman when he was feeling so low already, he thought, would only make him feel worse. His mind was plagued with thoughts of the water, the bridge, and his mother.

he always came home.

even when this had not yet been home, he had returned to the island. now that it was littered with scents of those he called his family, there was a grand comfort in a return. especially when he found the scent of mo heavy among the trees.

the boy was growing. aging. soon he would not be much of a boy. more of a young man.

he knew not that he interrupted a possible hunt, or deep thoughts.

a blessed day to see your face, mo. his curly furred tail offered a brief sway. i have something i wish to share.

The man greeted him and Mojag grinned, but it did not carry the same happy-go-lucky feeling as normal. It felt almost forced, and perhaps it was. Better to keep up appearances, and to avoid the adults worrying over him.

When Bart mentioned having something to share, Mo was intrigued and couldn't help the tilt of his head. Share? Like what?

Had he brought something back from the mainland? Mojag couldn't see anything, so it must not have been a physical object. Something else then - knowledge? He was curious, but knew to be patient.

you are coming upon an age where i think you deserve a proper role. at least soon.

he was tentative, but warm. an undercurrent of excitement that he fought to keep at bay. truthfully he had plenty of concerns for the boy since the day he had arrived.

yet mo had done nothing but fit in, being a wonderful addition to their home.

do you wish to be called a hunter of sweetharbor? perhaps you have other roles in mind?