Whitefish River Old Friends, New Tragedies

Ah, figures. That was at least one of his predictions. Not only had she abandoned him, but everyone else who had chosen to follow her blindly to the island. A selfish woman through and through. Perhaps it was for the best how things happened. It seemed many turned their backs and went their separate ways, Connor finding himself without his heterosexual companion and now wandering on his own in his new pack just as Rosencrantz did with Rusalka. 

Come, escort me out, I want to go home anyway. We can talk along the way. After Connor was done rubbing his scent on a nearby rock, Rose began padding his way toward where he assumed a border would be, where Rusalka would be waiting for him. Now that he was more level headed, the adrenalin faded, though still tired, he managed to find that elegance he held while walking before the attack. Despite his disfigurement and wounds, he managed to keep face. 

What will he do about it? Survive. Warn the others about his presence. What else was there to do? What else can I do?