[Fawn]

A young warrior left the sanctuary of RainClan's makeshift camp, having stepped around and over sleeping warriors with nary a sound, expression as blank as the moon. Once he had cleared his Clanmates, the long-haired tom with the deep red coat made no hesitation in leaving the temporary camp. He had become a warrior three sunrises ago, leaving his friends and his childhood behind in one bittersweet, joyous and grievous moment. Crowned Russethawk on the night his parents had drowned evacuating the camp, for two nights, Russethawk had sat vigil – once for the parents he had lost, Brookrun, Snoweye and the siblings he had never gotten the chance to meet, and once to fulfill his duties as a new warrior.

Two days without proper rest, and still sleep would not come.

He felt this unbearable desire to run and keep running until he simply ran out of earth, to run as though he might find them somewhere – safe, alive, happy and waiting for him – as though there was still a chance they could both be alive. Anyone who had witnessed their deaths at the river would know there was never any chance of that.

Slipping out of camp on silent paws, Russethawk had sunken into a trance, unable to find peace of mind though his body was running on fumes, the emerald hue of his eyes lackluster with the toll grief was taking upon him. It was going to be a while before he was okay again. The moonlight bleached the wet ground white with the strength of it's brightness, silvering the damp grass and lightening the deep red pigment of his coat. Traipsing through rain puddle and fallen branches and bedraggled remains of what had been the original RainClan camp, a low sigh of resigned distress could not be held back as he stood in the center of the soaked camp. The water was still high enough that his paws and tail-tip were wet by the time he reached the river stone, but Russethawk didn't care. Leaping onto the leaders' usual place of announcements, the tom's movements were stiff and without excess, as though the usual swagger and energy he walked around with had been washed away with the flood three sunrises ago.

He turned around once, trying to get comfortable on top of the cool, moonlit stone, finally sinking into a tired ball, eyes shut, body still, soul in pain.

It was going to be a while before he was okay again, and while he desired the company of the recently deceased more than the living, there was a part of him, a part that believed he was never truly alone, and that part of him was what allowed Russethawk to finally give in to the consuming fog of sleep.

In the morning he would hunt and patrol and do as he was told, he had more than deserved his warrior status, but for the first time in many many moons, Russethawk wished for the nursery again, when warriorhood was nothing more than a far off dream, and those he loved were all still close enough to touch.