Blackfeather Woods we roam under a sky full of stars

The boy was sleeping. Having taken to a nocturnal lifestyle, opposite of his siblings, waking during the night to stare at things, he had great dislike to being waken now. But he rose soundlessly, watching as his vaguely interesting mother left, along with the horribly annoying sibling, his other vaguely annoying sibling none of his concern. He followed his mother, as instinct dictated, but once outside the den, he did not follow. He was no sheep. 

The child, wanting for his own adventure, skirted the den, moving as fast as he ever had in his life as he tried to get away from his loud, annoying siblings and the mother that was interesting. He was leaving, or trying too, and in his mind nothing would stop him. He had not made a sound since that day with his mother all those days ago, and would not be making one now, as he slipped away.