Dear Trillium.

Dear Trillium. The cove along the path of the final pilgrimage split into two separate paths; the right path leading along to the final resting ground of a colossal ship, the figurehead rotted away until its remains stained a rusty line in the sand beneath. Only eight links of chain were left rusted to the anchor, petrified in a comatose like state of disrepair. The gulls seem rather attracted to this place, free of the anchor that the gulls earlier were bound to, floating around and navigating through the holes in the hull like the crew must have done all those years ago. I plan on entering the ship to learn more about the past of the ship and crew, but feel as if the gulls will determine that decision. I will tread back to the other path to let them mull over if I am worthy or not.