Redhawk Caldera I'm the holy water you can't live without

While Nightjar would steadfastly hold to his belief that any animal too sick or injured to fend for themselves in some fashion was wasted effort, Peregrine's explanation appealed to his only sense. Wolves were pack animals. They had an obligation to one another to take care of one another. He felt that only meant the hearty, but maybe it was more complicated than that. Whatever the case, no one would ever see him taking care of a brutally injured or extremely sick pack mate. Minorly sick or minorly injured, sure... but he hadn't gone to see his aunt Dove after the hunt because she was already dead in his mind, and he would carry that philosophy with him always.

The comparison to Raven went over his head. His immediate family was very different than the rest of the pack; the benefit of aiding them outweighed the benefit of helping others, even those who were like family. Nightjar would sooner feed and nourish Raven than Elwood, for example. But he didn't say anything. He was tired of talking, and merely rumbled to acknowledge Peregrine's explanation. A subtle nod.

Then his snout tilted to the sky, which was boiling now. The storm's belly hung over them. Nightjar huffed to his father and then set off toward the borders with his tail waving, a sign of welcome for his father to join him if Peregrine so wished.