Wheeling Gull Isle vanyan sòlda

mireille wanted to tell caracal yes, that he could fuck off.
but that felt too mean and too unnecessary on this oasis her friend had found. the words poured through her body with a stiffening wave, and then left the obsidian.
"if i told you i failed my pack, dat i failed sapphique, that i — cannae even imagine what we will be after dis — if i told you all dat, caracal," mireille murmured, still not looking at him, still with eyes fixed on the inexorable sea, "would you do me de grace of agreein', or would you tell me it wasnae my fault?"
her jawline was a ridge of iron. she had been sent to bring others here and so few had come.
mireille had lost them. and she had failed the others.