Thundered threats followed him, bowling like lightning bolts through the cloud tinged with black now like burning paper, but he never lost sight of the white gull.
His powerful wings carried him effortlessly through the cloud-heavy air, and when the gull’s flight dipped and plunged to land on a beach of ochre sand, lapped by thick, silent waves of liquid bronze, he folded his wings and landed right beside it.
Purple hills undulated along the skyline and overhead pink waves of cloud flowed ever inland with a musical rhythm that reminded him of songs heard in childhood.
He can’t reach you here, but he’d like to, the gull said. Up to you whether you stay or take your chances with the tides and try to swim home.
Swim, fly, walk, float, all seemed immaterial to him as he turned about himself, a cat finding a comfortable spot in the sand warm as chestnuts and soft as duck feathers.
He spread his wings and hovered over the ochre sand, tasting the honeyed breeze on his tongue and listening to the music of the cloud waves.
“I think I’ll stay,” he said, and with cries of joy, a hundred white gulls flocked about his head, as a herd of blue horses galloped down from the purple hills to meet him.