With his mother dying before his eyes and adrenaline running through his system, Atticus was impulsive. He needed to escape. Facing reality was too much. Hearing his father sobbing and his siblings crying out for their mother caused his stomach to turn. The sight of the body etched into his mind. Practically every minute of the day, the moment of the house crashing on his mother replayed in his head. There wasn't a moment lately where he wasn't felt sick. The kitten had cried for hours after the shock had passed. Feeling guilty and damned to be blamed, he ran. Had things went different, he wouldn't of left Tanglewood. With time, he may return. For now though, he needed to clear his head.

So he went to the only place he knew. A group without anyone involved. Somewhere where his only friend resided and could cry without judgement. The Pitt.

Despite their two groups being mortal enemies, Atticus liked to think otherwise. His ignorance told him they could be different. After all, she was here. Sweeney. Their first approach was pleasant, despite the occasional name calling. The next two were even better. They talked freely, allowing borders to fade between them. It seemed as if they were not enemies, but merely rebellious allies. Her presence felt... right.

Eventually, the kitten reached the very familiar desert of The Pitt. Atticus passed the border, continuing to walk. He was heaving, ready to collapse onto the floor. The fur on his cheeks was matted was dried tears and his pelt was unkempt. Weary eyes looked around, looking for anyone. It was clear he was in distress. For once, he didn't even call out to Sweeney. He just waited... and waited... and waited till someone came.

The sound of paw steps neared. His head ducked low, looking down at the sound. He knew he wasn't supposed to be here. Guilt filled his chest as the movement grew closer, expecting to be ridiculed. The Pittian's enemy did not expect a kind greeting, unlike last time. Thankfully, the girl he yearned for came through first. Sweeney's paw brushed against his shoulder and Atticus stopped in his tracks. A weary stare looked up at the familiar Pittian.

Pointed ears pinned to the back of his head, mimicking her own. His marigold hues gazed into her eyes momentarily, contemplating what to even say. He stuttered gibberish at first. Before the kitten could move forward and describe his sorrow further, she had already taken the privilege away. 'Atti, what's wrong?' she crooned softly. Overwhelmed, Atticus' tired eyes began to swell with tears. He stammered forward with a violent shudder, brushing off her paw and attempting to lean into her shoulder for support. Though his speech were muffled by her fur, his next point was clearly stated. Even if the reality was cruel. "She's dead, Sweeney," he said, choking on his words.  "My momma's dead." Through staggered sobs, the kitten closed his eyes and attempted to press into his friend's side, aching for her warmth and support.

Another voice caused his head to raise up with eyes plastered open. The last time Piers arrived, the hybrid greeted him with no words. This time, he decided to speak though. Atticus swallowed nervously. After Pier's suggestion, he looked over towards Sweeney for agreement. While he wished to unload here, they were probably better off in private. No one wanted to hear his heart-wrenching sobs.

In regards to Dante's comment, his maw pulled backwards into a snarl. Through the tears, he snapped back at Dante. The cigarette-smelling shark hybrid didn't need to imply anything. "Go blow off smoke elsewhere, brat," came his immature comment. With that, he turned back to Sweeney. That was all from Atticus for now.

A low growl left his throat as Dante neared him, but thankfully Sweeney pushed his maw away. Nevertheless, the following words caused him to flare up. His fur raised and the kitten stepped forward, challenging the older feline. Before he could dart forward in retaliation, Piers stepped between them. Atticus would subconsciously thank him, but he kept a smug expression as yellow eyes stared down the Pittian. Mama's sensitive boy was disgruntled. He didn't need another animal raining on his depressing parade.

As Sweeney placed her head atop his, weary eyes closed and a sigh left him. "Yeah," he muttered, "Let's go." 'Please.'