Flycatcher Downs Tryna wash away all the blood I've spilt

Finally, he was out of the godforsaken lowlands. The damned false desert. Calahan had always thought a dry, sandy landscape to be appealing. The last month or so had proven otherwise. While some enjoyed the dunes, it wasn't his niche. 

He hoped to put the dry wasteland behind him, along with much other things. The downs were intriguing. Watching from the brisk prairie, Calahan marveled at the abrupt cliffs. The style off them was something else. While he had seen many cliffs, 
not all seemed this steep. The possibility of a successful climb was just about as real as a ghost, so he continued on his way.

February 21.