Whitefish River synthwave goose

"Don't stray too far. You might get lost ... or worse ...
... caught by the unnamed."



So forward. It was admirable, but a hindrance. 

You've earned no more than due. To know a name and origin is considered privilege.

Extending a neck, nostrils flared. They were desperate for better knowledge. The scent this boy carried was odd, yet intriguing. 

Redhawk.

The title struck no memory.

Even with a moment to think ...

... nothing.

Cold, dark eyes stared all the while.

Into the soul they dove, searching for something else entirely. Whatever it was, it would not be named. This was for the raven alone to render.