Redhawk Caldera Promise me no promises

Two weeks had passed since Nightjar lost his central vision following the eclipse with almost no improvement. Since then, the normally unshakeable Redhawk had fallen into a deep and likely irreparable depression. He spent his days laying about the rendezvous site, moving only to sate his needs, but even those were hardly taken care of. Most days he could be found doing nothing at all, and that was the saddest state he had ever been in.

As a cold breeze blew past, carrying the rattle of dry leaves to his sharply pointed good ear, the mottled wolf reflected on something Peregrine and he had discussed when he was much younger. Shouldn't they die if they're too sick to feed themselves? he had once asked of incapable wolves. His father had responded with his usual brand of what Nightjar had taken for compassion, explaining that taking care of the infirm and disabled was simply part of being a pack, but Nightjar had clung to his own belief even then: those too weak to contribute were better off dead.

Currently, that number included him. His desire to stay alive clashed with his belief that the useless were a burden, and only served to prolong his depression. But as he sniffed the breeze and noted the crisp notes of autumn, he knew he could delay this no longer. Winter was just around the corner and the pack was still suffering from a prey shortage. Though he wasn't taking much for himself, he wasn't helping, either. He couldn't in his state, and that cut him deeper than he would ever let on. And unlike Towhee, who had proved to him that the disabled weren't always better off dead, Nightjar wasn't coping with his new disability.

So when the wind picked up and when he thought no one was around to witness, Nightjar rose shakily to legs that had grown wobbly from limited use, and began to pick his way slowly down the mountain. It took the better part of an hour and a half. He fell half a dozen times and slammed into twice as many trees, but eventually the pungent odour of the borders reached his nose. He didn't know which way he was going, and he didn't bother sparing a backward glance as he slowly crossed them and headed out into the wide unknown, where he would most likely perish in a matter of days. It wouldn't matter—he wouldn't be able to see his beloved home anymore anyway, nor anyone who watched him go.

Tears lined his nearly sightless eyes as he tripped over a rock, but Nightjar didn't stop. He didn't turn back. They were better off without his sorry ass burdening them, after all. He couldn't see and couldn't contribute. He was the weakest link, and he weakened them all by sticking around. That was what he had always believed and he held fast to it, even as he went to surely meet his own end at the wild's cold hands so those more capable could continue to live.

Anyone is welcome to witness him leaving behind the scenes and/or notice that he is gone from the pack. He would not react to or respond to any behind the scenes attempts to stop him from going, since he believes wholly that what he is doing is not only the right thing to do, but necessary. It has been fun! <3