Meadowlark Prairie Got cups on my ears

The wilds were surely different now, or rather, Whip wondered if his memory played him for a fool. It had been so long since he had tread so close to the Caldera that the subtleties of his surroundings had all changed. It felt so unfamiliar. This place made him a stranger. Places where the ground had once been stripped barren now returned to life with flourish. The grass grew tall here -- Whip didn't remember the grass ever growing so tall here.

Unfamiliar as he was, the major landmarks did not change. They charted Whip's journey home like broken highway lines. And the scents, though they had changed in shape and hew, they were still painted with the same earthen palet. He was close. By sunfall, Whip would breathe again.

Birds dipped down just over head and Whip stopped, distracted. Something curious had caught his attention, and this something bore no wings. Whip thought he smelled Elwood (though the scent belonged to the brother whom he had been compared to on many occasions, yet had never met). The thought wasn't such a distant possibility, taking location into account. The Caldera was only so many miles away. This waking nightmare was finally over.

Whip approached with caution, slowly moving though the grass toward a perceived old friend.