Wheeling Gull Isle If you can’t beat ‘em

Nobody approached, but Phox was a patient wolf. He always had been. With Towhee, with Camilla, with Figment and Fennec, with Niamh, Meerkat, Alyx, Quetzal, and—bless his sweet soul—Primrose. Whatever he had to do to win Niamh back, he would. If it meant staying here and waiting, he would do that. If it meant dying here, she could not say that he had not tried. Phox would not move on. Camilla had been different. He had not been with her in the same way he’d been with Niamh. He had done everything he could for her, and had she still been alive, he never would have left her, either.

Wherever Niamh was, Phox would find her and make it right. He didn’t know the specifics, but he knew he could fix it. He had to hold that flame close to his chest. It was what kept his heart beating, his legs moving, his lungs breathing.

The crash of waves behind him did not deter him in the least. The sand clinging to him a mere annoyance rather than something that could not be overcome. He would overcome this. Somehow, some way.