alright let's do this. pretty art is coming. writing time!
The krill were beginning to leave and the weather was growing chill with the turn of the season. Though there were still weeks of warmth and good fishing yet, it was time to leave the island. He had stayed too long already, curbing the want of wandering in his blood to feed on the bounty of summer.
Kisuk stretched his wings out and beat them into the still air. He had nested on the high cliff rocks for close on half a moon now and the sea was calling for him once more. The horizon stretched endlessly across the far blue waters and the sun caught the edge of the world in a sear of white. The waves turned to silver as he turned his head to them and his hackle feathers prickled even more fiercely with longing for the unknown.
There was no wind to carry him across the water. He folded his wings and cocked his head to the side to eye the sky. It was a clear, sere blue, streaked with the long, thin clouds that meant strong wind in the high reaches. On the ground however, the day was calm and still. The sea was flat and winglengths upon winglengths below, even the waves were calm, lapping gently against the jagged rocks below.
He could not fly free of this place without the gale. Kisuk centred himself and fanned his wings out again, storm dark feathers bared to the sky in invokation. The wind surged in response, stirring his feathers with the breath of power and the tempest darkened the sky as it came, shading the sun with its might. Kisuk clicked his beak in quiet satisfaction and threw himself into the sky.
The wind caught him a winglength above the water, waves whipping into crests of pale foam and sea spray. He beat upwards a fraction, pushing his muscles into rhythm to catch the dip and eddy of the storm gathering around him. Dark clouds rushed above the open water as he winged out over the sea and lighting crackled, followed swiftly by the bone deep rumble of thunder that hummed and trembled through his hollow frame.
The storm billowed around him as he beat for the distant horizon, bearing him on the back of gale winds and white backed waves.