Wheeling Gull Isle renege

He slunk along the sand with his head level with his shoulders, tongue lolling out of his black-tipped snout as he obnoxiously gulped air. Titmouse, like the rest of Undersea, had been working hard to clear the mess that plagued the isle following the storm. Bits of debris had gotten tangled in his belly fur but he didn't pay any attention to it, and his paws were lined with salt and sand.

As he crunched his way along he spied a pile of wood that nobody had started on yet. Initially he thought he saw something atop the pile move, but turned his dark-side towards the pile as he looked along the beach, investigating how many bodies were otherwise occupied. When he noticed that everyone was busy with their own business, he turned back to the pile and slowly intercepted where it sat.

There was still movement overhead, but the pile was massive and he wasn't as attentive as he should've been; Titmouse assumed it was just the wind playing with a haphazardly placed beam, or something. So he approached and looked for a spot to start tugging, and set his teeth in to a shard of arbutus that curved smoothly out of the middle of the pile.