Redhawk Caldera night and the spirit of life

Whip was not a liar in the typical sense. He did not spin untruths, yet he was guilty of withholding information when it suited him. When his sister's attention drifted to the healing flesh of his forelimbs, Whip could not skirt around the the topic with his usual silence. He needed to provide some sort of answer, preferably untrue, but he did not offer an answer quickly. He looked down to his legs -- this constant reminder of the sharp pain of loneliness. A stiff, awkward silence followed.

"Badger," he lied awkwardly. Whip visibly winced from how bad a lie it was. He bit his lip and fell back into silence with the hope that his sister wouldn't pick up on his trail of bullshit.