Shadowwyn Moor Clair de Lune, L. 32

something was wrong.
something had been wrong, for the past few days, or perhaps this past week. something was out of place. something had shifted and it had begun to disconcert wren; and yet, she could not place what it was.
everything was — fine, for the most part. silvertongue healed. shadowpaw warmed up to her, somewhat. ash star was still ash star, yes; but wren lived with it. but something else made her hair stand on end. something else stole sleep from her in the night.
surely it was just paranoia, that incessant fear that nothing good will last. either way, the warrior set out beyond riverclan's borders, just to check. to feel safe.
the wind tore at her cheeks and cold mud now covered her feet. she could not help herself from looking over her shoulder, staring up at the sun-blocked sky; songbirds fly overhead in a formation, and for a moment wren feels a little less alone.