Nightjar made it a lot farther from the Caldera than he thought he would. Admittedly, when he crossed the border, he did it with a heavy heart and heavier doubts, expecting to die mere steps from his homeland, as if death was just waiting for him to turn his back. Regardless of his deeply held belief that being nothing but a burden was the worst crime a pack animal could commit, he had wanted to turn back with every step he took out of fear of that happening. He nearly caved to that desire more than once, spinning his body around before realizing that he couldn't tell where to go anyway. Nightjar had fallen so far into thinking he was useless that he forgot to utilize his remaining senses, and following his own scent trail back didn't occur to him.
What always caused him to keep his course was that part of him knew he would not be allowed to stay. Finley and Elwood would take pity on him, but the rest of the pack would not, and the rest of the pack wouldn't heed the bleeding hearts of its Alphas forever. Had there been another wolf in Nightjar's position, he wouldn't have hesitated to send them packing, even if Finley and Elwood strictly forbade it. He knew of at least one or two wolves who were just as cold as him in that sense: Towhee and possibly Phox.
He knew better than to go back, so he kept going forward, battering his body with frequent falls and collisions with objects in his path. Somehow he managed to not fall into any rivers or ponds, and his feet miraculously steered clear of pitfalls that he couldn't see, but he hit every other conceivable thing along the way. By the time he bedded down in the middle of Wild Berry Meadow for a nap, unsure whether he was under cover or not, Nightjar was bruised and bleeding from a dozen small cuts and scrapes.
He wearily closed his eyes and huffed a shaky breath into the cold air, but only had a brief respite from his troubles when he was bowled over by a much sturdier predator. Nightjar couldn't see it, but he could smell it: cougar. Probably an unfortunate starving one needing sustenance for winter, drawn in by the scent of blood. The Redhawk did his best to fight it off, and in better health he might have got away or even harmed it, but he was unable to see either the cougar or the direction he was running in. After smashing through various bushes and finally tripping over a cluster of rocks, the cat caught him in the soft flesh of his underbelly and spilled his life's blood in the picturesque meadow that his sister Raven so often frequented.
What always caused him to keep his course was that part of him knew he would not be allowed to stay. Finley and Elwood would take pity on him, but the rest of the pack would not, and the rest of the pack wouldn't heed the bleeding hearts of its Alphas forever. Had there been another wolf in Nightjar's position, he wouldn't have hesitated to send them packing, even if Finley and Elwood strictly forbade it. He knew of at least one or two wolves who were just as cold as him in that sense: Towhee and possibly Phox.
He knew better than to go back, so he kept going forward, battering his body with frequent falls and collisions with objects in his path. Somehow he managed to not fall into any rivers or ponds, and his feet miraculously steered clear of pitfalls that he couldn't see, but he hit every other conceivable thing along the way. By the time he bedded down in the middle of Wild Berry Meadow for a nap, unsure whether he was under cover or not, Nightjar was bruised and bleeding from a dozen small cuts and scrapes.
He wearily closed his eyes and huffed a shaky breath into the cold air, but only had a brief respite from his troubles when he was bowled over by a much sturdier predator. Nightjar couldn't see it, but he could smell it: cougar. Probably an unfortunate starving one needing sustenance for winter, drawn in by the scent of blood. The Redhawk did his best to fight it off, and in better health he might have got away or even harmed it, but he was unable to see either the cougar or the direction he was running in. After smashing through various bushes and finally tripping over a cluster of rocks, the cat caught him in the soft flesh of his underbelly and spilled his life's blood in the picturesque meadow that his sister Raven so often frequented.
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