Wheeling Gull Isle and her body got that ass that a ruler couldn't measure

She came to greet him eagerly, and again he thought of Maegi — was reminded of the glee her presence brought him. But this was different from that. With Maegi there was always a pressure - a sadness, something they shared, as if both of them had fought through trauma and united through it. Maybe that was accurate. With Moorhen, things were simpler. She probed at his cheek and inspected him, but there was nothing aggressive about it, nothing sad or weighted. She seemed so free by comparison.

He did not anticipate any questions. When she asked after him, Titmouse gave a little shrug of his shoulders; he'd much rather continue with the wild investigations, considering his lack of a voice. Not wanting to disappoint, he tried to speak anyway: Steyin' beezy. Kep' an eye on da pile — yoh pile. Fount you — fount dese, suddenly remembering a few of the additions he'd made, Titmouse zipped around her and after a little sniffing, found some of the sticks that held his smell. It took a second, because Driftwood's was everywhere, and discovering this tempered his exuberance. He hoisted himself to his hind legs to reach one of the sticks, but didn't wiggle it too much before he plopped down again.

Tit looked to Moorhen after that and turned the question back to her — Hau waz... Off-eye-land?