Redhawk Caldera Betting on the bull in the heather

Cold water gave breadth to clarity. A frigid bath in the stream purged Whip of all impurity following his flight from the caldera. He held a steadying breath deep in his chest before silently watching the wisps of vapor rise into the great white expanse above.

The compulsion to forget and move on was undeniable. He supposed this was just another addition to the long list of bridges he had burnt. Still, he kicked himself over his lack of thought. He could feel his reflection's judgmental gaze boring into him from sad silver eyes to pink ribbon scars. He was a ruiner -- always had been.

He turned away.

Returning to the border was a mistake, but he once again found himself on the fringes of his childhood home, longing for a simpler time. He waited at length before raising his voice in call.