Redhawk Caldera brother, you already were a ghost.

— Night, 70°F, Cloudy

Ten days.

It did not seem like a lot and yet each day dragged along at a devastating pace.

His voice did not return and with each day he felt more certain that it never would. So he relied on the communication he had used longest. Body language. Finely tuned depending on who he seemed to meet each day.

Tonight, he crept along alone. The territory was still majorly new to him, most familiar with the healing confines of the medical space.

Yet here was the edge of what seemed to be a lake.

Out there was an island. One he seemed to feel a pull to. Slowly he began to wade into the water, not thinking twice on if it might hurt the healing wound on his neck or not.