Redhawk Caldera ghosts in the willows

@Oleander - nighttime, 55 degrees F. 

The crags here were huge - hard to climb, but the boy was determined to get to the top. He was careful in his steps, calculating them as he would in a fight. And it was remarkably easy, he realized, when he got into the swing of things. For just a while, here, he could forget about things - forget that there was still a puppy to find, forget that he'd hurt Memory, forget about his past. 

Finally, Clarence reached the top, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. It was warm out tonight, with just a hint of wind to ruffle his splotched fur, and it felt even more crisp at the top of the mountain. The boy closed his eyes against it with a small smile. When he opened them again, he surveyed his surroundings. 

Lush greenery surrounded him, leading down to the base of a smooth lake, reflecting the moon above. Clarence padded down to the water and lowered his head to take a drink, admiring the ripples his tongue caused on the surface.