Wheeling Gull Isle sentin

today heda was among the lavender. she rolled in it; she left tufts of her white fur there and plucked purple petals up with her when she rose.
seasalt and florals.
heda hummed to herself. she left the place behind and went up the greenhills with a step bouncier than she felt, focused completely on the song inside her mind that she was composing.

The energy Mojag once carried with him was no longer so accessible, yet he could see it in other places: how often Bartholomew ventured boldly to the mainland, or Heda danced in the grass.

He watched her with some envy, and moved to intercept her, only - and this was sudden - he shied at the last second and slowed, turning his attention to a scent or a sound, as if she had not been the target after all.

Mo thought of many things. A part of him thought that answers lay within himself or Sweetharbour - and perhaps Heda could help him, if he could ask for it. But at the same time he was surprisingly reticent; shy when before he had been so lively.

when she turned her head, there was mo. he was deflated; he carried a weight around him. heda related to that, for only in focusing on her song had she kept bartholomew from her mind.
heda blinked her eyes. she came closer and nudged the boy, concern sparking in her gaze. "do you want to talk about it?"

She'd caught him. Of course, he wanted that and didn't at the same time. The usual friendliness appeared in the form of a smile and when Heda spoke, it wavered.

Mmn, he hummed. Mo looked one way then another, and caught the horizon in his gaze, and sighed a breath too heavy for his age.

I miss my mom. He said this and his gaze averted to the grass, his toes wriggling in the tangles there. I want to go home, he could not voice.

<3 fading this out, lmk if u wanna revive!

heda supposed she could relate to that. mo didn't seem any happier, the contrary, actually. sweetharbor needed to be a home, not a prison.
"come on." she smiled at him. "let's go talk to bartholomew about getting you home."