Heron Lake Plateau If you can use a doorknob

Oh, there she was!  Good.  He sat the fawn down nudging it towards Raven, I just slipped getting this for you, is all, off a cliff, but he wasn't saying that right off the bat, though he obviously hadn't just fallen on flat ground.  Their priorities seemed to pretty much be just the other person and not themselves, as he tried to will Raven into taking the fawn instead of worrying about him.   She was totally more important.  Take it, I'm sure I'll be fine.  This was also why Quixote had a scar on his muzzle and always looked like he was having a bad fur day -- if he wasn't at least half-dead it was obviously not worth the time, right?  Mister tough guy.

The dirt-covered points accurately covered bruises, weighted more to his left side than his right, mostly wrapping across his top third of his body.  His left elbow and knee were both scraped to bleeding, and the few smaller cuts farther down his legs on both sides where the fur was thin had stopped bleeding on their own fairly quickly, just leaving a few small crusted off-color patches here and there.  Though his fur had done an okay job at protecting him, beneath the grime he had collected there was a small series of cuts along the left half of his pelvis and the peak of his shoulder on the same side, likely to be added to his collection of other small scars.   Really, though, he was a complete dirtball that needed a bath.

It's probably be at least another few minutes of him not moving before he became more aware of how much it actually hurt.