Blackfeather Woods just another story of a brokenhearted soul;

Sorry for letting this sit for so long! I'll try to match but I dunno if I can lmao.

After his night of terror — characterized by vivid, lucid, awful nightmares which placed the forest in direct opposition to the ghostly boy — he had not slept much in the days to follow, afraid of what the mushrooms had awakened. He was uncertain of himself, weakened by his doubts, but mostly afraid that Abraxas would find a moment to find his retribution for the crows that had been slaughtered. He was exhausted as he roamed the woods; easily spooked by the crack of debris along the forest floor, or the clatter of eager beaks overhead. The grinding of branches against tree trunks as they swayed in the wind. Every little thing had him amped up to eleven and Titmouse wasn't sure if he'd ever feel right about his place in the forest again; the shadows were always watching, and they had teeth.

When the forest pack was re-established he had been mostly crepuscular, keeping to the Web whenever the daylight was present, and his nervousness had him slowly transform in to something of an insomniac — not just nocturnal — and he found himself comforted when the daylight hours brought thin spring light to warm his body. He wasn't so lucky at this point; Titmouse had been roaming and letting his mind drift, watching the shadows grow lengthy with the coming of the night and feeling his anxiety ripen with the darkening of the sky. The stars were like many tiny eyes staring down at him, judging him, mocking him — and so he could not sleep no matter how badly he wanted to. Even if he did, he knew he'd be visited by nightmares. By death. He could not allow harm to come to Maegi as he slept — and what if it was worse than that? What if he did allow himself to sleep and Maegi was hurt because of it?

So, he could not sleep. He ached, he pined for the days where the forest and its darkness was a comfort to him, and he roamed like the restless spirit that he knew himself to be.