Blacktail Deer Plateau red birds escape from my wounds

Private for Kat. This is backdated, though I'm not precisely sure of the timing. I think it happens on the same day that this thread takes place.

I am taking a break from Atticus for a while and he will become a PPC (Previously Played Character) in the meantime. I intend to return at some point and resume playing him. This thread will set the stage for his demotion and absence from pack life/activities. Packmates are welcome and encouraged to reference him in their posts if they wish; I'm OK with minor powerplay as well, though keep in mind he will be in a catatonic, totally unresponsive state for about a week after this post. After that, his movement, speech, everything will be very basic and slow. He will be in the constant care of Peregrine and Blue Willow.

Atticus had always been an adaptable wolf. When life threw crazy curveballs at him, he generally handled them pretty well and managed to deal with it. But this time, he was having a hard time coping. He simply couldn't accept that Osprey Jr. was dead. He couldn't. He refused to believe that brilliant little fireball had been snuffed out so early in her youth. Even when he had seen the crumpled black corpse -- the irrefutable evidence that she was dead -- laying at Peregrine's feet that horrible day, he still couldn't wrap his brain around the reality. It had to be a mistake. That dessicated body couldn't have been Junior. She was a Redleaf-DiSarinno. They didn't just die.

And so he looked for her. Oh, he still attended to his duties as Beta, of course. But his patrols at the boundaries of their packlands became patrols for her. When he scented the wind for intruders, he scented the wind for Junior. Every time his nose lingered above the fragrant earth in search of a trail, he hoped to stumble upon her trail. Each time the warm summer breeze tousled his black mane, he thought he heard her voice. The passion that drove him to carry the torch for his niece was relentless; it emanated from the very center of what made him who he was, and there was no question that he would continue the hunt until he found her.

He found himself today at the northeastern edges of their packlands, in the highlands near Porcupine Ridge. It was windy here, the skies grey and foreboding with the promise of rain soon. The rocky earth made for precarious footing, and he picked his way over its surface gingerly to avoid slipping or twisting an ankle. He reached an area of level ground and stopped for a while to just sit and look out over the lands, pondering everything and wondering why tragedy always seemed to find his family. Time passed while he sat at this lofty perch and let his mind wander, until a shift in the wind brought him back to the present and he realized he should probably head home. He thought of visiting with Blue Willow, for if anyone could lift his spirits, it was her. A faint line of a smile curved his lips as he began to descend back down the rocky path, pebbles tumbling down the slope ahead of him.

It happened in an instant. One minute he was moving along just fine, the next minute, he was tumbling violently down the steep hill. It happened so fast and he was so bewildered that he couldn't even cry out. He felt each impact as his body hit the stony earth, and the exquisite pain that followed each blow. All the way down he scrabbled at the loose scree in a desperate attempt to slow his fall, but his efforts were in vain. At the bottom, he rolled sharply and there was a sudden, hideous crack as his head struck the edge of a large boulder. When he finally fell still, he was unable to move, speak, or even think. Minutes or hours passed by -- time no longer meaning anything to him -- and he remained where he lay, glazed eyes staring emptily off into space, his body as limp and motionless as one dead except for involuntary twitches of his muscles as his brain swelled.