Heron Lake Plateau Horns and halos.

A year had passed. In the time Whip wasted wallowing in his misery, he'd missed so much. "S-sister's grave?" he stammered. It was all too easy to take family for granted, to assume they'd always be around when the progidal son chose to return. The revelation crashed down upon Whip in one sorrowful wave. After all, closure was never guaranteed. It was foolish to believe otherwise, but knowing the truth did not dull the pain. In fact, it made it sharper.

Whether it was Wildfire or Raven, or one of Towhee's littermates, the tragedy was all the same. It was still family. Blood. He bit his lip, but kept a strong face. He bottled it up and let it add to the pressure. In his chest was an autoclave where nothing could live, for the wilds were not forgiving of weakness. It was yet another lesson so keenly learned. She pointed to the pack lands as he shoved his emotions down, into the depths where they belonged.

A breath.

"Whip-poor-will Redhawk," he answered. With some hesitance, he took a tentitive step toward his sister. A long beat followed, perhaps where an apology should rest, yet Whip had never been one for tact. "They shouldn't have changed the name," he said flatly.