Heron Lake Plateau Horns and halos.

Yet again, a clumsy call was sounded. This time however, Whip was sure of its souce. Like nails upon a chalkboard, her voice was a grating thing to the untrained ear -- yet Whip bore no grimace upon his world worn face. He was easily drawn to familiar things, and though his time with Towhee had been a brief snapshot of an otherwise disappointing life, she was but an idealized remnant of better times and innocence among the Redhawk clan. It was the illusion he chased. He followed her than, letting her voice lead his way back home.

She found him there upon the plateau's cusp. Much had changed. She limped, bearing some grave injury of unknown cause, but her face remained the same. Whip never forgot their faces; the ones he'd wronged, the ones he'd disappointed. They haunted him still. He should have told her then, long ago before he'd abandoned the Redhawk clan in the wake of the war with Blackfeather: I will only disappoint you. Yet, it was the past. He could not take his shortcomings back, no matter how much he wished to.

Whip could see the faint glimmer of recognition spark in the her metallic, orange eyes. Gears turned in her head, but skipped and stuttered over worn down teeth. Whip could only hope she didn't remember him. It was his hope to be only a whisper. Yet alas, she remembered something. "I don't know what I'm looking for," Whip answered honestly. He'd never known what he sought, be it the love of his family, or the fear of strangers. Yet, he couldn't help but feel it something definable, tangible. Hidden behind a veil, he didn't have the means to uncover his heart's desire. 

"But you're here," he observed obliquely. "Are you outriding, or are you not with the--" a beat followed. The word felt hollow on his tongue, as if to speak its name was to besmirch Peregrine's legacy itself. "--Frosthawks anymore?"