Wheeling Gull Isle vanyan sòlda

Now her ire turned upon him in full force. Caracal shrank back half a step. He should go, perhaps find someone else who might know more about his family. Concern swirled in the pit of his stomach.

But Mireille wasn’t finished, her tone scathing as she speculated about Meerkat’s and Swordfish’s whereabouts. His lips pressed together and he prayed—yes, to Heda’s God—that his sister’s family was alright.

To her closing words, Caracal wasn’t sure what to say. Did she mean to go back now? He wanted to suggest she wait or, at the very least, tell her to be careful. But he was afraid to speak. And then Mireille began to weep.

His instinct was to offer comfort of some kind, yet just a moment ago, she’d been ranting at him. Caracal sensed that he should give her some privacy and retreat. Yet something glued his little red paws to the dried roots underfoot.

Is there anything I can do? he ventured after a considering pause.