The young tom sat sentinel in a field that stretched out for as far as he could see. A tiny auburn smudge dappled in moonlight in a sea of golden swaying fronds and a single tree who's branched tangled amongst themselves in the wind. His golden eyes grew heavier and heavier as a chilly breeze swept over tail-lengths and tail-lengths of dried grass and tiny white flowers. The distant sound of monsters flying by one after another was there, though Missingpaw knew he was in no danger.
Here he could sleep, not in that den made for Shadowclan apprentices. It was as though he were a loner again, sleeping out under the stars.
The choice to join Shadowclan felt almost as though it were not his. Tired paws had stumbled across their borders one night, hopelessly looking to return home to the carrionplace. When he was found, challenged by their patrolling warriors, Missingpaw felt as if he had no choice but to surrender. It wasn't all bad. He was no prisoner. He worked, trained, and in return, he got a place to sleep and food to eat. Missingpaw knew now that he'd survive the winter, but he wasn't sure he'd survive the uncomfortable feeling in his chest whenever he was expected to speak to someone.
When the boy woke to a sharp jab to the shoulder and someone calling his name. His eyes remained screwed shut, though he managed to groan and roll over. "Ugh, what's the matter? What do you need?"