Whitebark Stream we're the new face of failure

he stood at the far northern edge of the territory, where the stream emptied out into the larger, fast-flowing river. beyond that was a small cluster of mountains, one of which was the peak that had emptied smoke into the air. it had ceased smoking for the most part, though occasionally he saw a small tendril on the starkest gray days.

he stared up at it now, wondering. surya had never made it up there; he had found a surplus of cowardice upon coming too close, smelling the sulfur and brimstone. it was foreign, it was strange and dark. did anyone in the ranks of whitebark stream know what had happened there?

for a while, he tried to fish, but found himself too distracted by the mountains ahead. he eventually settled himself at the bend created by the confluence, idly batting stones away. plip, plop, into the creek they went, to sink to the bottom. never to be seen again. . .at least by him.