Redhawk Caldera departures

Whip had tried not to withdraw in the wake of his father's passing, yet he found himself falling into old habits. Nowadays, he spent more hours sleeping then he did awake. In his dreams, Whip could see his family together. Dad, and even Peter, still felt so real. In his sleep, Whip made memories -- but they were fraudulent, all of them. And they faded so fast after Whip would awaken. Sometimes, he would wake up sobbing, as if he knew that he was only fooling himself in this foolish endeavor. Yet still, he embraced the sweet, comforting lies that his dreams offered him.

The boy had just risen from yet another dream that he could no longer remember. For a few minutes, he kept his eyes shut in the hopes that he could will himself back into the world he had created, but Whip soon found that to be wishful thinking. Slowly, he bid his scarred limbs to move. Whip hoisted himself up on shaky legs and he pulled himself from the hole that he called home for the night. His blurry vision then fell on his mother who rested a short distance away.

His steps were slow, but Whip steadily made his way to his mother's side. "Hey," he mumbled as he settled to his haunches beside her.