Heron Lake Plateau Horns and halos.

Time and time again, this place brought Whip Redhawk back like some foul curse. Despite familiar soil, it wasn't the same -- it would never be the same. He'd told himself this truth time and time again, yet he continually found himself believing in a farce. He held on when there was nothing left to hold on to; this fragile picture of a family that no longer existed. Grief went unprocessed. Pent up for years, it weighed Whip down like a malignant tumor. Festering. Rotting.

He was an empty vessel. Full of holes, he leaked like a sieve.

Gannet filled the empty spaces for a time. Family, close family, was in short supply in Whip's experience. It had been a pleasant time. One Whip believed was an oasis, but it was only a mirage. His brother's company, comfort and happiness, all of it was fleeting. Impermanent. In perpetual flux. It was why he found it so easy to fall for the lie he told himself. If he could return... if he could just say goodbye... He could swear he smelled them, but the mind liked to play tricks.

However, a sharp yap pierced the air. Completely unintelligible, yet familiar. Whip's ears rotated forward in attention. He'd finally come home.