The Runaway

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Crickets chipped loudly outside the large brambles den.

Inside next to all of the sleeping bodies, was one young tom still wide awake.

He couldn't sleep, his mind wouldn't let him.

It kept playing the same grizzly images of two days ago.

He wasn't sure how his den mates could even sleep as soundly as they were.

There was blood on their paws, and they didn't seem to care wheater, not the cats they help kill were innocent.

Sitting up in his nest and looking over at the now two empty beds of moss.

He was sure to bedding was cold to the touch, but when the wind hit just right, he could still smell their scents.

Looking at the empty nest made his stomach knot up in guilt.

He had been the one to survive, while they had to be torn to shreds.

It was cruel.

It was unjust.

Plans to leave and start something of their own was now a passing daydream.

He needed to leave.

Not for his sake, but for them.

Feeling a fire burn inside his chest, the tom got to his paws and started walking.

But before he could leave the den altogether, a voice stops him short of the entrance.

"Harepaw, where are you going? It's late?"

The voice belonged to the white, orange, and black spotted she-cat named Primpaw.

"Ah, no, where Primpaw, just going out to make dirt."

He let out a breath of relief when she yawned an "okay hurry back." before falling asleep again.

Once the tom had made his way silently through the camp of sleeping cats, he stood staring at the entrance.

Was he really about to do this?

Desert the Clan?

A voice inside of him wanted him to turn around and curl back up in his nest.

But an even louder voice pushed him to walk through the entrance.

And to not look back, as he made his way to the border.