Fairspell Meadow Goodnight

Scamp had run, upset, from the woods of Blackfeather after being patched up, not bothering for a goodbye or showing anyone that he was going. It obviously wasn't a very fast-paced escape, but leave he did, doing his brooding and healing just outside the borders. Never did he stop defending his home, scent always thickly on at least half of the borders at some point or another, always shifting. The fire-faced man was mad at himself, somehow feeling guilty about being unable to defend himself against some fucking DEER. (And one moose, but that barely mattered in the dark coated Blackfeather.) But now, somewhere around a moon cycle later, Scamp's leg was able to hold a good bit of his weight, and it didn't hurt so bad. Something told him it wouldn't ever really be the same, but it wasn't a worry close to his heart; unlike Damien. It was unclear to even the canine in what exact way he thought of the Dark Master other than, well, HIS DARK MASTER, but even without words Scamp knew that there was something beyond his blind and unfailing loyalty.

During his time alone, Scamp tested the noises he was used to making, played with the way he could manipulate them and twist them into another noise. From doing this, he accomplished a wonderful personal task: speech. Nothing more than a few words, the most basic commands that Damien had given him most, maybe one or two that he simply heard a lot, but to Scamp even the pawful of words in his vocabulary was absolutely splendid!
As the flame tailed canine came to the borders, he crossed without hesitation: never did he stop being a part of the pack, a part of the family, and never did the possibility of being unwelcome cross his dim mind. Why would he be? Ever since meeting the darker male, Scamp had been instantly glued to Damien's side, doing his every bidding and wish with little to no words; and most of the time, he actually did these things right. He'd given his very life to making the Dark Brotherhood thrive, and there was no reason to keep him away.
Unfortunately, he was a traitor, and barely got far at all. The woods no longer welcomed him here, so with a broken heart he bolted back out into the wilds....
He went towards the mountains, getting just a couple of yards from Blackfeather before the blow to not just his ego but his loyalty really hit-along with a sharp pain that Scamp pushed off. The heartbroken grey man curled up in a field with little care of danger, and willed himself to sleep.
Unfortunately-or perhaps it was lucky-Scamp Blackfeather never rose. Some time in the night, an aneurysm had claimed him-thankfully, he was asleep and went painlessly. Never would he have to live without his Dark Master, and even though he'd never found love, had pups, or even made friends, he'd have done it all over again in the same way.