Swiftcurrent Creek Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.

He remembered the creek. It was a memory from long ago, hazy and almost dreamlike in its vague recollection. His mother, brother, and northbound trip into the wilds and the unknown. A winding creek and a cold place up north. There was a strangeness to these memories, something untouched and innocent, and Whip could only wonder if he felt this way because he looked back to that moment with fondness -- something he rarely did. Something he rarely could do.

It was by accident that Whip found this place again. He ran. Ran like he always did. Away from Bhediyon, from Tytonidae, and any other positive force in his life. He ran because he was scared, like a petulent child refusing to grow up from the selfish boy he had always been. It was now that Whip realized he needed the guidance of his parents now more than ever, but they both were destined to rot in a shallow grave somewhere in the Caldera. Gone forever.

Whip was alone. Weighed down by the ghosts who haunted his restless nights.

He remembered the clearing his mother had brought he and his brother to and how the creek cut through. The snow rode up Whip's ankles as he walked. It hadn't changed -- save for the season. The trees were dead and dormant, and the landscape was a bleak and lifeless white. Thin sheets of ice reflected the midday sun and floated in the current of the creek like tiny glaciers. Standing on the bank, Whip watched as they marched along to warmer waters toward their ultimate demise.