Wheeling Gull Isle i need some meaning i can memorize

@Cascada

 The storm had spent itself. The island, torn. Trees, scattered. Beaches, eroded. The maelstrom did not leave quickly, nor did it leave quietly, and the island was strewn with the remains of the combined force of the storm surge and winds. The landscape was semi-unrecognizable, with the water darkened with driftwood and rocks belched from the depths. For many hours it had raged, the gods beating their fists against the earth's surface and crying torrents of rain. It was one of the few times that the earthstalker would ever, genuinely admit that he had been frightened. Not for his life, for he was much too dextrous for that; but frightened at the fury of nature and the sheer power of the gods. Never before had he felt so small, so insignificant, so inconsequential. It was a reality that Komodo did not enjoy facing.

But as all things did, it eventually came to an end and the small band of wolves, the one who were last from the beach and the others who sought shelter elsewhere, emerged on the other side of victory. Komodo knew Ixchel was hearty, just as Axolotl and Coelacanth were hearty and he did not worry as much for themselves. They could hold her own; but the others he did not know and, therefore, he could not trust in their capabilities. His motives to create an amalgam of the differen clans had not been entirely self sacrificing, either — there was strength in numbers. They would all be stronger, together.   As he picked across the landscape, his mind mulled over the incredible event that had just occurred;  the wolves whose lives all converged here; the confinement of the shores and the ocean that was so eerily calm now

— and contemplated how he would make his escape.

She does not know where her feet will take her. She’s never had the wandering spirit but she’s never often listened to what they want. They lead and she follows. The girls stick by their chosen spot, even after meeting the other wolves, because it is easier. Quieter. They don’t have the pressure of others surrounding them when they need to focus on getting their strength back. They do not deny help from others, when it comes along, because she knows what it’s like to be a pack. Even if she does not know each and every wolf on the island—the thought still shakes her—she knows she has to make due until she can come up with another plan.

Eventually, she finds her path crossing with the wolf that held the meeting on the shores. She didn’t have much chance to really talk with him, or see him up close, but something pricks at the back of his mind in familiarity.

“Do I—” she pauses, unsure if he can hear her from the distance she stands. She pushes forward and steps into plain view. “Do I know you?”

Komodo paused his pacing only when he noticed a small colorful fae drifting his way. As she neared, Komodo turned his attentions to her. The man remembered her from the meeting, and, he was since realized, was the body he had helped to pluck from the oceans upon her arrival. However, she stopped quite far away and his ears needed to strain in order to hear her feminine tones.

Did they know each other? If they did, Komodo could not recall. It wasn’t completely out of the question, though — had the earthstalker not been reunited with not one, not two, but three wolves from his immediate past? Perhaps the small, reddened girl before his was another soul from his travels? After all, he met many — some warranted remembering, and some didn’t.

"It’s a small island,” he barked to her, not eager to cause her discomfort by moving forwards. He had learned to stow intimate introductions at the behest of Coelacanth, who’s feral side often repelled such nearness; he recognized not all wolves took to his company as readily as had Aria. With a wry grin, Komodo continued.

"Perhaps we all seem… familiar to each’uther, now.”

As it turns out, Komodo does not have the insight she’s looking for and offers some philosophical bullshit about familiarity for being on the island. Brightening green eyes narrow at him but she doesn’t have anything to offer him. What she feels extends beyond the island but she cannot place it, struggling to keep her old memories intact lately anyway. There hasn’t been time to dwell on the past even though the pain is always there, reminding her it isn’t going away any time soon.

“I guess,” she says to placate him, but shrugs her indifference away. Awkwardly, Cascada stands there a long moment before she glances past him. Realizing she doesn’t have much else to say, she dips her nose once and begins to leave him where she found him.