Rising Sun Valley I know not by what power I am made bold,

 

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it is night.
colour is stolen entirely from the world, and the steady hum of background cries and calls has faded into silence. it is late into the night, and the wood she seeks shelter within has gone still; it is the brief period between the night creature's reign and the earliest bird calls that leave nothing and no one ruling over the wood. the girl is awake, sleep evading her as mind slips into the kinds of thoughts that the light of day chases away and the night shuts out in sleep, allowed now to run rampant through the forefront of her mind. 

her head tilts upward, imagining distant and faded memories of a tapestry laid across the heavens, delicate and bold all at once. she angles her head, twisting, until a gasp builds on her throat and she pauses, still. a glowing orb sits at the edges of her vision, half shadowed by something, yet there all the same. she knows it at once to be the moon, yet never before has she witnessed it since the storm took her eyes. they are healing - slowly, surely, and never completely will they mend - and for the first time does the appearance of the moon have her realize this. 

she moves, abruptly and suddenly, knowing she must escape from beneath the canopy, reckless in her sudden quest to see the orb without the distracting shadows and blurred shapes above. but chance is cruel to her, and she stumbles headlong into a thornbush she might have avoided in the day's light. despite herself, she lets out the smallest of cries, pushing herself backward as thorns jab cruelly into her pawpads and chest, brambles clinging to the fur of her shoulders and forelimbs.
@Hyacinth