Wheeling Gull Isle Damselfish

Set in the early morning before this thread.

When the tide had dipped low, the bridge appeared.

Swordfish was roused with a jumping start, heart racing, the heat of the bear’s breath on his flesh. There was no bear by the sea, he found. While he willed his thrumming chest to stop, the boy glanced to their first destination with some hope. Lestan had not been lying. A sandy bridge had formed that would allow them to trek to the other side.

A weary grunt sounded as the hunter rose to his paws. A nudge for @Lestan signaled their need to leave.

Ready to check yer island? he managed between yawns.

but lestan was sick.
he had not slept well among the tumbled boulders, and crawled from among them with a rather greenish look to his face.
biled rabbit was thrown up onto the water's edge, and the mayfair huddled pitifully in the sand. "no," he told the other man, "b-but not because i-i'm sick. because i-i'm scared."
what would he find? blossom, sound? or more likely, bones. desiccation. death.
he feared it! and found himself now whimpering with the horror of his mind's twisting thoughts.

Swordfish watched as Lestan spat remains of his rabbit into the surf. The bear-hunter’s stomach churned in discomfort but the sea took the bile out in a single sweeping motion.

The man rambled, saying he wasn’t ready. He insisted it was not because he felt ill, but that he was scared. The yearling regarded him with a stern expression on his young face. He did not think that he had ever met a creature quite so dismal. It had been Lestan who had formed their plan - island, forest, river. Then they were to cross to the mountains and land at Swiftcurrent.

Yer not gonna be any less scared sittin’ here.

Swordfish shook the sand from his coat and gazed out at their destination, skeptical that any wolf would be there.

So yer scared. So what? Do it anyway. Do it scared.

"what if she's dead?" it was the first time that lestan had ever let himself consider that possibility; it stood out in his staring, glassy eyes, his thin, heaving chest, and the tear that clambered down one cheek.
slowly his gaze slid to the younger man, realizing they'd been together for days and he didn't recall the other's name. "what if she's alive and d-doesn't want to s-see me? that would be w-worse, wouldn't it? w-waltzing in and a-annoucing i'm h-her father."
lestan slumped despondently in the sand.

Swordfish watched Lestan break down, speaking the possibilities for the world to hear. The boy felt inadequate to help with this situation. He did not have children of his own and he had only been a child when his life had been upended. How could he help a grieving man with a pain he didn’t understand? 

The bear-hunter shifted before he approached Lestan at his left side. He eased himself to his belly, the hairs of his haunch pressed to the other man’s body. 

If she’s dead- he sighed. If she’s dead then we bury her. An’ ya tell her how much ya love her. An’ then y’know she’s at peace. As for the other hypothetical… Swordfish did not know what had happened to fracture this family. He knew nothing about Blossom, or her mother, or why her father had been left sobbing beside the sea. 

How can ya know what she wants til yer there and ya hear it from her? Swordfish shook his head, exhaling sharply. All this wonderin’… s’just gonna eatcha up.

he hiccuped a little at that, folding against the shoreline as if it held all the response he needed to make at this time. his mind collided with itself, conjuring the little face which was surely not so little any longer.
blossom wouldn't even know him, lestan thought in despair, screwing his eyes shut against the sunglare and the understanding voice of his companion; the mayfair leaned sideways and tucked his crown against the outside of that folded haunch, and tried desperately to be something like strong, even its illusion, just for a moment.
"all right. l-let's go."

He didn’t think it had worked. Lestan wallowed, shutting his eyes and burying his face. Swordfish was not capable of offering more. He did not know what else could be done. They had to get to the island. The island, the forest, the river. Then to the creek, he’d repeated these waypoints in his mind several times since meeting the withered father at his side. 

When Lestan conceded, the young man found relief in his heart. Swordfish looked out at the island, pleading silently that they would find the girl and this father would be reunited with his child. Not all things needed to end in disaster. 

Let’s go, he agreed in his sullen voice. Across the bridge to the other side.

it would be slow going.
"oh, oh, this was where we were!" lestan cried, falling down to his elbows and flanks midway upon the bridge, overwhelmed by the swoop of gulls and the vastness of blue which arched around them. "there was a — there w-was a —" and then the mayfair attempted no more, for something had caught his frenzied eye.
crablike, he dug into the hot sand, delaying them further, until the piece of deer ivory came free in a spray of grains;
i've found you you're mine you're mine you're mine
and the golden bird soared overhead, but this time lestan did not cringe nor fall, he only gasped and grabbed the talisman, and ran along the bridge with near sightless eyes.

The two men had not made it far in their journey when Lestan was overcome with- with-

Familiarity, it seemed. Struck down on the strange loner like a bolt of lightning from clear skies. Swordfish watched him scurry, digging into the sand until he had retrieved a piece of bone. The young hunter couldn’t see well enough to make it out.

Was this Blossom?

Swordfish wondered if Lestan’s wailing had root in this little treasure. If this was what was left of his daughter, it would explain the erratic behavior. It would also explain the queer gleam that had fixed itself in Lestan’s eye. While the man cooed over his prize, Swordfish stood solemnly in the tide. It lapped lazily against his paws while he debated his choices that had led him to the land bridge with the wild-eyed fool.

Before he might speak, Lestan took flight and Swordfish bolted so that he might keep up.

and then he was among the lavender and seasalt, the sprawl of green in all directions, only a day? two? before his blossom would appear here herself, hale and whole and seeking a boy.
but for now, lestan found himself able to touch only the fringes of plantwork here and there, the grains of sand.
the island was beautiful. wolf-tracks crossed the sands. but not blossom. never blossom.
lestan hardly wanted to linger, heartbroken.

mini cameo! -waves-

They are here for the isle. They want to take it from you.

The sand stirs, and the island holds its breath. Wheeling gull and its beauties must have brought them here. The shell and bone; the lavender and brine. But they do not know that everything on the island is his relative, that this was a country he knew by heart. When the gulls scatter the boy retreats to his labyrinth of wooded passages. From the sanctum of his shadows, his wide perch-eyes follow the intruders like a fox would her prey.

There were tracks.

Swordfish lingered, sniffing at the pawprints left behind by others. He wondered if there had been a group who had lived on the island. It seemed like a difficult place. The young wolf was fond of the sea, of course. He would always belong to the salt-touched waters. That did not mean that he could isolate himself in such a place.

The young wolf watched Lestan with a wary eye, expecting the man to split in two and wash out to sea in some horrific tragic end. The man seemed occupied with searching. Waves lapped around them, reminding the bear-hunter that their time was limited. They would need to search quickly.

Drawing his snout upward, Swordfish called for @Blossom and prayed that she would answer.

wave! <3

there were eyes. as the other perused the island trails, lestan stood burning and trembling and peering about for the unseen. he decided at once that he hated being upon singular land masses, and peeled off to lope toward shardik.
the mayfair tucked closer, tilting his own voice in a cry, and then another for the daughter he adored.
silence went on, and his expression grew even more stricken.

There was no answering call on the sea winds, no hint that there was anyone else on that pitiful island but them. Swordfish grew frustrated. He had hoped that there would be a happy ending for Lestan, that they would reunite him with his daughter and he might… get better. Allowing these things to sink in, he felt his cheeks flush and his throat tighten.

Maybe some folks didn’t get better.

Lestan tucked near. Swordfish regarded him with concern on his young face. The look in the other man’s eyes was difficult to swallow. He looked even more dismal than he had been on the other side of the land bridge.

S’alright. Haven’t found a body, have we? A crude way to suggest that she must still be alive somewhere.