Wheeling Gull Isle drink and shout

There were some fruit trees growing near the interior fringe of the mangrove swamp. Now that it was autumn, they’d begun dropping their sweet, juicy seed pods. Their peels shriveled and their flesh rotted, creating a strong odor which drew Caracal’s attention. During his traveling days of yore, someone had once told him about fermented fruit. Recklessly, he decided to eat one.

After that first experience, he gathered all the smashed fruits he could find and stored them in a hole in the ground not far from The Lion’s Den. He often visited the stash and partook of the inebriant fruit, just enough to take the edges off his pain. It was the only way he could function enough to support his family.

Today was particularly bad, leading Caracal to overindulge. Afterward, he tottered away toward The Greenhills, weaving a little and smiling to himself as the pain receded into the ethanol ether.

the island had been besieged, and heda felt her resolve shift ever so slightly upon the axis in which she had always put so much of her faith. near drownings, tears, kidnappings. disappearances. she felt stretched thin to wax paper; she could not be on all sides of the island at once, and blamed herself for the way the strangers had taken —
faith in god, heda reminded herself. but the idea of bringing them off sweetharbor for a time, perhaps to moonspear where she could finally not feel the strain of their few adults — that would be lovely.
the sweetharbor woman put her faith in god and her husband, and it was the second one she chose. she would need to speak with him first, but the more she imagined towhee's smiling face and meerkat's welcome, the more vibrant the idea took hold inside her mind, until she experienced the first stirring of elation in a while.
caracal was climbing the greenhills as she descended them. heda called out to him with a grin, though her delight soon became concern. why was he staggering? the acute anxiety of the past few months sharpened into a painful vise; she sucked in breath and rushed toward him.
the reek of fermentation poured off caracal, the sickly-scent of the fruits opening a portal in her mind where she recalled all the times she might have scented it before; coming to bed; waking. heda tried to tell herself it was not, but the sloshing look of his expression told her otherwise.
hot and angry tears sprang to her eyes. heda turned and stormed back the way caracal had came, the fragrance strengthening. there must be a collection of them; oh, god, why had she been so foolish? why had — why hadn't she seen it?
this was not something she could allow their children to witness, their father's drunkenness. heda slammed a branch to the ground, breaking it in fury, then composed her hard breaths enough as she trotted back to caracal. "you're going to sleep this off, now, and then we're leaving," heda said, offering her shoulder for what was truly his undeserving touch. how could he? how could he! had this been happening all along? what if — "is this why ava almost drowned?" came the croak of her voice before she could even stop it.

Heda appeared, her eyes sparkling and her fur ruffling in the sea breeze. Caracal smiled softly, dopily, at her. He loved her so much. Had he told her that lately?

Wifey, he crooned. You’re so pretty, he said, reaching out to touch her face in awe.

Instead of soft, it was hard. Her eyes were harder. Her voice was hardest of all. It clobbered him over the head and he suddenly realized she’d been crying. Caracal blinked, trying to make sense of the situation.

Wha—? he began to ask when she insisted they were leaving, then hurled an accusation at him.

Very slowly, his brow furrowed. His face crumpled. He jerked back from Heda, staring at her. His heart was beating hard in his chest and his legs felt like jelly. Caracal lost his balance and fell onto a hip, all the while still looking uncomprehendingly at his wife.

Fuck did… you just say to me…?

the swear snapped heda's head around; she yanked away from caracal and stood trembling in shock and fury. 
"did ava fall into the sea while you were drinking, caracal redhawk?" she growled in perfect articulation. "did we almost lose her because this!" she cast her paw at him, "is more important to you?" now she was breathless; truly angry, truly furious. "i have a better idea. why don't you stay here, with john? you can talk about," she was shouting now, strained to her snapping point and finally breaking, "about how both of you failed our daughter!"
now she did whirl away, and took advantage of his sodden plight to try and run, as fast as she could, back into the protective emerald arms of the greenhills.

NYEHEHEH

Dinah's home crumbled, and with it, so did she.
Three siblings were missing. One had almost died. Another seemingly hated her. Seal and Towhee's recent appearances felt like seeing a butterfly resting upon a leaf while storm clouds snarl above you, black-blue and hideous and unrepentant in rage.
Just the night before, for the first night in her life, she did not pray before her eyelids closed in respite. It terrified her. In the moment, she hadn't even thought about it; how monumental such a small thing was, to not clutch her metaphorical rosary in her palms. Today, it brought her fear. God must be angry.
And she had gone most of the day waiting for punishment; she distracted herself. She waded upon the shore near the landbridge with Simeon in hopes of collecting kelp, and had taken a nap on her favorite perch — that she was now much too big for — in the high rays of noon. She snacked on the vertebrae of a fish that was snuck from the caches. And when the autumn chill of afternoon crept in, she had decided on a nature walk; yes, more plant identification practice, that would ease her mind.
And when she had come back to the greenhills with a handful of ferns encased between her jaws, that was when the shout graced her ears and her ears cupped forward. You're going to sleep this off; she had never heard Mama so angry. Why was she so angry? Did Ava fall into the sea while you were drinking, Caracal Redhawk?
Instinct thrums in the form of a desperate lope in the direction of the ugly commotion. Something stings her nostrils. She'd smelled it before, she thought, but never thought much of it; and now it nearly burns her eyes as she forces them shut. When her eyes open again, Daddy's shoulders seem hunched. His eyes are glassy. Mama is crying, and her figure disappears into the brush in a flash.
What was this?
Her tongue numbs with the shock, a cold, grizzly feeling that snakes up her spine, and before she can even think about it, a croak of unspeakable horror escapes her throat. Daddy?

Nuh, Caracal refuted eloquently.

He meant to tell her he hadn’t found the fruit until after they’d lost half their children… but not Ava. Thank God they hadn’t lost Ava too. But Heda gave him a dressing down that shocked him into a silent sort of stupor. She said so much, he couldn’t even process all of it.

After shouting until his ears rang, his wife turned and ran away. Caracal reached for her, confused and hurt by the words that had managed to land, but when he pushed onto his feet, he found he couldn’t chase after her.

Something very strange happened to him then. He began crying and laughing hysterically all at once. Then he threw up, which made him sober up, just enough for Heda’s words to sink like knives into his mutilated heart.

Caracal went back toward his stash, intending to eat enough fruit to take away all the pain.

Then a word stopped him: “Daddy?”

Dinah?

Dinah Redhawk lost her faith in God on October 2nd, 2023.
If God was real, she would have felt Him here with her while she watches the sickly beige muck all but erupt from her father's mouth, dribble along his chin.
If God was real, she would not have watched the fuse blow inside Mama's heart as she proclaims that Daddy had failed their family. Her sister. She would not have heard her cry.
If God was real, that man never would have showed up and swept her siblings under his wing, her siblings who she had tried so hard to love and who cast her aside without an ounce of remorse.
If God was real, the sun would always be shining and summer would never end, and John never would have bared his teeth, and Judah would still look at her twice, and Mama would always be happy, and Gramma would never leave or grow older;
And if God was real, Daddy would still be Daddy, and she would always find safety in his arms and always feel the soft hum of his voice as it vibrates in his chest while she lays beside him. He would still play games with her and teach her how to love with the guidance of his own. He would not have started to slip from her grasp; she would not have felt the fissure in her family crack and rumble beneath her feet, she would not be watching it burst in the present moment, and she would not be powerless as she fruitlessly tries to hold them together.
And she would not be staring at a man she barely knows.
A man who has her face, her eyes, her hair. A man who she carries the mannerisms of, the way he walks, his laugh; the curve of his ears when he focuses intently on a task, the way the dimples form in his cheeks when he smiles. The man she looks upon right now with pinpricked, scorned eyes is a ghost, a caricature, a ghoul wearing a suit in the shape of the man who brought her onto this cruel planet.
Half of her wished to run to him, to sweep him into a long-limbed embrace, and the other half wished to turn and scream over the clifftops.
But instead, one simple phrase spills from deep in her chest, gnarled and hoarse. Fuck you.

Caracal swallowed the taste of sour fruit, the sight of his little girl soothing his busted heart a little. He opened his arms to reach for her the way he’d done to Heda, but Dinah only had two terrible words for him that struck Caracal a worse blow than her mother’s.

He could only stare in bewilderment before his arms dropped and his entire body sagged. He shouldn’t have messed around with the fruit but he’d only been eating it to help him cope with the pain. He hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, least of all any of his kids. He’d made a vow.

God was punishing him severely and he didn’t know what he’d done. He’d only been trying his best. One of Caracal’s fists clenched, as if he was about to strike Dinah’s foul mouth. But that thought would never even occur to him. He wasn’t like his dad.

No, he turned the other cheek, gazed up at the sky and raised his fist, bellowing, My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?!

Caracal Redhawk also lost his faith in God on October 2nd, 2023.

She saw it; she saw it, the flex of sinew of his paw, and instinctively she gasps, pale red body lurching backward in reflex.
He wouldn't. He wouldn't—
But now, Dinah had convinced herself that he would. She had seen it in John, seen it in her sisters—

Thump thump thump thump

A cry, a trembling rasp; Daddy.

Fuck you fuck you fuck you

FUCK YOU

She can't do this she can't do it he's yelling why is he yelling at God it's his fault HIS FAULT HIS FAULT HIS FUCKING FAULT

Her head shakes as she tumbles on hideously trembling legs into a skip. She stops; Mama; Mama's calling.

Get out get out get away get AWAY get away

Tail pressed to the inside of her thighs, she skitters as fast as she can away from the slouched figure of her father without another word said.
God wouldn't save any of them now.

When he dropped his eyes again, Dinah was gone, just like her mother. Caracal’s arm fell limp, his head pounding right along with his heart. He should go after them, he knew. He should apologize for his sins and beg for forgiveness.

But rather than reach out to him in his trials, they, like God, had turned their backs on him. Rather than meet him with love, patience and understanding, they had been quick to spite him and leave him.

Unlike them, he wasn’t angry. Caracal was just broken. He resumed his walk to the stash of fruit, mindlessly uncovering it and staring down at the pile of bubbling mush. He could eat all of it and finish with total self-destruction.

Instead, Caracal began walking. He paid no attention to where he was going, though somehow he ended up among the lavenders. They were his wife’s favorite. He started to bawl. He hid himself in the purple blossoms, yanking a fistful from the soil and wiping tears from his face with them.

turmoil in the greenhills. ava's long ear turned towards it as she paused from pulling sprigs of lavender for psalm.

she followed the sounds. first, mama's voice -- but distorted and at a hideous timbre. the very emotion behind it caused ava's stomach to twist.

somewhat muffled in the din was daddy's parsed speech. off kilter. slow.

two new sounds for ava then to add to her repertoire, both equally ugly in measure. 

but then came a more familiar voice, cast over them all like an evil spell. FUCK YOU, it screamed over the disturbed peace of the veld. ava's ears pricked in surprise. dinah?

by the time ava amara made her way to the very spot where her family fissured into a million pieces, none of the cataclysm remained. the reeds bobbed indifferently. overhead a chorus of terns sounded their afternoon calls.

ava peered at the sky above, alone. a single cloud moved easterly, unhurried as it scampered across an escarpment of pearl blue. the fringes of it repeated in visual echoes: ava squinted as the mirage faded away.

she nosed the ground where a patch of bile mixed with something sweet remained. its aroma captivated her; it was faintly sweet but tinged with bitterness. but rather than follow after her father, ava's nose led her towards his retraced steps -- down to the larder where fruit festered in hissing gasps.

while her family lost their faith in an ambivalent god, ava found her own. she supped from its deep belly, blissful to the utter irony that their summery eden came to a bitter end, all on account of a single, rotten fruit.