[Brooklyn Trees]

Originally Posted by darkblazingstar

once darkshadow passes the border he is instantly flooded with scents of shadowclan he had almost forgotten" man it feels good to be back" darkshadow wanders around a little bit then notices how dark it has gotten its this late already? i better find somewhere to sleep he opens his mouth a little to let the scents flood in he notices a really faint fox trail and follows it. Once he reach an abandoned foxhole, he plops down after making a temporary nest and closes his eyes. After a couple moments he falls asleep

Sleep did not come easily to the ginger feline. It never did. Every moment that her eyes were closed, the hidden memories that she forced away in waking hours would dance in front of her, blurred through time and ignorance, and distorted with fear, but nevertheless capable of keeping her awake.
Tonight was bad though, and often she would walk through the territory to calm her mind enough to gain an unconscious state upon her return to her nest. These had been one of those nights where she had done this, having left the confines of the camp a short time before. Now she would run.

It never really mattered where to, or even if there was a destination at all. Running helped on some deeper level than she could comprehend. It was escaping these things that haunted her mind, but it was also escaping the world.
And altogether, not truly escaping anything.
She ran until her limbs grew as weary as her mind and heart, she ran until her breaths lost their steady rhythm and became heavier, until her chest heaved to draw in adequate oxygen. Only until this happened would she slow her pace to a stop.

Here, standing amongst the foliage and trees of her beloved territory, she closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breaths again.
On a night – not quite unlike this one – many, many moons ago, she had ventured from the camp like this at night, with Thornbright and had found the rogue.
The Rogue.
Time had worn his name from Gingerwish's memory, leaving his image a paled and shattered form and his scent washed dry and tasteless from moons of absence.
If she were to see him now, she may not have recognized him. The Rogue.
But that was okay. He was gone, left. She doubted that she would ever cross his worn path again.