( fate take me home )

She wakes with the sun and skitters out of Camp before anyone can notice, not quite willing to face the stares and whispers. They haven't missed her on patrols and hunting trips, given her clumsy paws, and she's not much of a fighter, anyway - Clan life has simply gone on without her. And Freckleheart can't say she's surprised or even offended, because when all the signs are staring you in the face, how could you argue? Surely, StarClan's made it quite clear that she's not meant to be much; and given her performance thus far, she's surprised Pinestar hasn't demanded she leave the Clan, yet. Truthfully she's rather frightened of the severe-faced leader, though knows him to be a fair tom, and has done her best these last moons to stay out of his sight. Her period of mourning, and physically recovery thanks to Tawnygaze's knowledge, gave her plenty of time to rest and think - but even now, she struggles to shake the cobwebs from her mind and the grief that drags at her, makes her limbs heavier than they should be. Her paws catch on every twig and stone, leaving the young Warrior bumbling, faint sounds of distress escaping her at every turn, until she finally stops and sags, letting her weary legs fold and deliver her to the dew-laden undergrowth. It chills her, the dampness settling in through her short coat to rest against her skin, clammy and uncomfortable - but she doesn't dredge up the energy to leave. Instead, she sighs and curls her paws to her face, burying the freckled fur into her waiting limbs and moaning under her breath.

Freckleheart only mopes for a few moments before struggling back to her paws and exhaling sharply. Her shoulders, slumped only moments ago, raise up and she juts her jaw out, shaking leaf litter from her chocolate pelt and narrowing her gaze at the open woods before her. She had to do something useful today - there was no more room for this brooding. If she didn't start supporting her Clan, they'd stop supporting her, she imagines - and, besides, it's not right! Her parents didn't raise a quitter and, despite their rocky relationship, there's a lingering desire to make them proud of her and what she's accomplished ( so little, at this point. ). So she flicks her ears forward and begins easing through the vegetation, wincing every time a wayward paw brushes a twig or misplaces leaves. Though the sun is high overhead, filtering through the sparse trees, her eyes are being fickle today and shadows pass before them, throwing her off and making hunting even more difficult than usual.