Beartooth

Beartooth should never have entered the Dead Wood. He's been wandering it for moons upon moons, his bats perpetually clinging to his fur, offering the occasional chirp in his ear. They never should have followed him in here, either - he's not sure he'll ever shake the guilt for sentencing them to his fate, no matter how unintentional it was.

He misses the stars. He misses his Clanmates - the real ones, not the empty husks that wander along with him, passing by him every so often with only the occasional glance. They howl lowly on the wind - he joins right in, not thinking much of it beyond the fog in his mind.

Sometimes, his son, Pinepaw, passes by, and his heart swells, and the guilt that clings to his fur alongside his bats gets heavier. He misses his son. He misses his daughter, too - had he ever even seen her around? He wasn't sure. It was hard to think here.

It was hard to remember.