Redhawk Caldera Betting on the bull in the heather

In the time Whip spent waiting, he reflected silently. It was, perhaps, the third time now he had returned to the Teekon Wilds in search of some familiar spark. Yet, thrice, he had not found it. He questioned why he had returned, if not out of some odd reflex, for he knew what he truly sought, he would not find here among the shadows of the past. Yet still, he could not let go.

The cycle was all he knew anymore. Though he desperately wished to shake it, he knew not how.

He supposed he would begin with an apology. When he began to smell the tantalizing scent of estrus, expecting Towhee to return and rebuke him once more, Whip dug in. He thought of the stream and of cold, cold water. Already, he was practicing what he would say -- how he would explain the unexplainable -- in his mind.

Yet, it wasn't Towhee. It was another. A stranger. Jesus Christ, what a day this was.

With the last few hours still fresh in Whip's mind, he exercised a rare level of restraint. He kept himself low, tail wagging curiously as he mirrored her chuff in reply.