Blacktail Deer Plateau It's wild like the river, it's warm like the sun

He nodded in response to Peregrine's comments on their sister, not really knowing what else to say. He hoped that Osprey would come, but that was the best he could do — hope. She didn't know they'd been thrown out. He was sure Tyrant Ass wouldn't straight-up tell her that he'd thrown her brothers out of the pack; Atticus imagined he'd come up with some bullshit story to feed to her, probably paint them all to look like traitors and cowards or something. And even if she did piece together what had really happened, their trail was bound to be weathered away and nearly gone by now. Was it even realistic to hope that she might find her way to them? Atticus was nothing if not a realist, sometimes, and right now, his inner realist was telling him that the odds were pretty grim.

There was always that hope, though.

Peregrine swiftly changed the subject, and delivered to Atticus news that was probably supposed to be good. But it wasn't. It hit him like a poisoned arrow to the heart, embedding itself deeply in the aching tissue and festering there. Goddammit, he thought to himself, swallowing a thick lump in his throat and grimacing. Every fucking time. Somehow, whenever he developed feelings for someone, he always ended up being the loser. There was definitely chemistry between him and the peculiar Alpha, but he guessed he'd never have a chance to find out where it led. "That's cool," he said, a ball of ice burning deep in his stomach. "Good for you, man." His plastered a smile on his face and did his best to breathe false cheer into his voice.