Whitewater Gorge Like a cry at the final breath that is drawn

The chasm spanned miles, and most of the points where he thought he could leap across were decrepit enough to make him doubt himself; that or the distance was too great for his stout self to manage, either way it wasn't happening. The water roared along the tear in the earth and he followed it until his path seemed to descend within it. Towering stacks of stone and cleaved granite rose up as great walls around him.

It was then that he noticed something in the air — an almost familiar scent, but for reasons he could not fathom. He paused and looked around, catching a flash of ruddy red in his periphery, which by itself was rather jarring. Yellowbelly doubled-back and made to intercept the burly shape, yet the closer he got the slower he moved. There was something strange about them; beyond familiar, even. His first thought was of the crazy woman he'd once met — and the fact he could recall the moment with clarity was surprising by itself — and all Larus could think was, is this my brother? They looked so much like that wild woman who claimed to be his blood, but...

When he was close enough to drink in their scent from the path they left trailing behind them, Larus realized the stranger was young. Too young to be his kin, at least. Maybe just a burly look-alike. He followed quietly after them without thinking about the potential alternatives, eager to intercept them and get some answers -- perhaps they were a piece of his forgotten past?