Redhawk Caldera i could write it better than you ever felt it.

Hope ya don't mind!

Change was certain. Always had been. No matter how hard he resisted the natural ebb and flow of the universe, Whip-poor-will Redhawk often found himself at the mercy of not only the ever fluctuating winds, but also the incongruous wiles of his own uncertain spirit. The urge for permanence and certainty went so easily undermined by one so adept at self-sabotage. Whip was hardly even conscious of his own destructive efforts.

It was time to leave again.

He shuddered on the same breath the thought arrived. It was a feeling both familiar and unsettling, and one he knew he would not be likely to shake. A thought like this was an unwelcome tenant, living in his head rent free. It was a shame, he had thought, that it had to come at a time like this.

He felt her sleeping against the curve of his chest. The gentle rise and fall of every breath. It was almost peaceful, everything he thought he wanted -- and he felt it all turn to ash in his mouth.

He awoke to a bitter chill. He was alone. Gone was the rhythmic breathing of a partner abandoned, and in its place, only the dry whistle of the wind whipping through the underbrush remained. As Whip slowly emerged from a haphazardly dug den, he felt a profound emptiness inside. It was as familiar as the ground he tread.

The Pilgrimage, so he had come to call it, had become a rare source of constancy. At his lowest, Whip sought the wisdom of his father. Of course, it was wisdom that he would never receive. The dead, in his experience, were not often keen to reveal their secrets.

Yet still, he had come, and he felt a strange sort of peace as he saw the rise of the Caldera reach toward the sky. Not prone to nostalgia or sentiment, Whip hardly knew where it had come from -- however, his stomach started to lurch when he thought he smelled traces of a claim over his ancestral home.

Uncertainty settled over him, but he pressed on.

Distractions were abound, each scent strange and unfamiliar. All of his faculties were devoted to uncovering who had laid claim to something not belonging to them -- that was, until another scent took hold.

Attention scattered, a biological imperitive took hold. 

The choice to investigate was no longer his to make. His feet moved for him with a rare certainty as he altered his course toward the source.