Wheeling Gull Isle wanderer, what are you searching for?

beach crabs. they were tickling his feet. he giggled like a child, trying to shake them off. he was surprised they weren't biting. . .but perhaps they were friendly crabs.

"hmmmm. . ." aditya breathed sleepily, paws twitching. he was trapped on the edge of dreams. he felt balanced on a precarious ledge between life and death.

"mere bachpan." his mother's voice, sweet as nectar, drizzled in and out of his ears. she was so long gone. . .he must be dead. . .

with some effort, the wolf opened his eyes a sliver, only to find a pair of blues staring right back. he would have jumped up and back in shock, had he not been so exhausted. as it were, he managed a surprised grunt, his throat red and raw from saltwater intake.

his eyelids were so puffy that he couldn't open them more than a crack, and his eyes were blurry with sleep. besides her--for it must be a "her;" the scent suggested it--eyes, he could make out no more than a sleek black form, standing close, nose pointed curiously.

she made a small sound, a tiny whine, and aditya struggled to respond. "kaun hain?" he asked in a ragged whisper, trying--and failing--to lift his head off the sand. she does not have your tongue, in all likelihood, the practical part of his brain admonished him. he struggled further, then, for a more neutral language.

"who. . .wh. . ."  he gave up nearly immediately, hoping that blinking quizzically at her would help answer his question. aditya was fluent in many languages, but his fight against the sea had clouded his brain, rendering him nearly speechless.