Wheeling Gull Isle where the wind’s like a whetted knife

[table width=80%][tr][td]Ondine had just reached the coast when she felt something amiss; She was not resting anymore and the wind carried the moist scent of a storm with the familiar smell of salt. Her mismatched eyes sought the line where the sky usually met the sea but she couldn't find it. Panic ensued as her white mane danced in the stronger winds and she sought the comfort of a sheltering tree on which the leafs danced a sinister dance. She had not expected to be greeted with such an event and prayed deep within her heart that the wind would turn, removing the incoming storm and sending it to the middle of nowhere. She had gotten here to die but wished not to be accompanied by a disaster - not while her first offspring was out and lost and probably scared more than she was. She had lost enough - she did not deserve to see her child's corpse wash on shore!

She slid to the bottom of the tree, head resting sadly on her back and paws digging nervous lines in the sand.[/tr][/td][/table]