She knew that outing with Brat — Royalkit — had been a bad idea, because when Duskpaw was given the smallest taste of freedom she couldn't help but want more, despite the sour aftertaste. Under the red moon, she had had fun; she wanted more of it. Inferiors like her weren't allowed to leave camp — it would give them too much control, it would fill their heads with dangerous ideas such as autonomy and privilege, but, intentionally or not, Duskpaw was a rule-breaker. Not in the loud sense, not in the wild, uncontrollable sense. She was quietly stubborn, somehow impervious to the ideals of Nightclan yet a pushover, a people-pleaser, all the same. She may detest Kier, but she feared him. For others, the fear kept them in line — for Duskpaw, it made her act irrationally, it made her louder than she usually was, it drew attention. The trial had instilled a reputation upon her, of being insolent and disloyal and somehow lower than those of her class, despite being bottom-of-the-barrel. Nobody wanted to be around her, talk to her, for fear their association with such a pitiful thing would ruin their own reputation. She was only alive due to the conflict between Kier and Snowblister, their pettiness, their need to overrule or one-up each other. She hadn't forgotten. 

With the taste of freedom from the night of the blood moon, Duskpaw found herself edging closer towards the camp exit, snooping around for other, more secretive ones, just for some fresh air, because for some reason she couldn't explain, she couldn't follow the rules. She couldn't be better. She'd found one, other than the hole at the bottom of the pool in Kier's den, a tiny tunnel that branched off a normally vacant cavern, a little deeper into the caves. It opened up from the ground a little way from camp, and it was her exit route for when camp got too claustrophobic. Usually, it was always in the early hours of the morning, or the time just before the moon set and the distant horizon was speckled with orange, but it was one of those days where she was left entirely alone, unnoticed and uncared for, so she had gone out earlier than. 

The edges of the territory gave a nice space to breathe — just as Royalkit had said, nobody travelled too far from camp; the territory was practically hers, though she still kept to the undergrowth and shadows and edges of trees. 

Evening, Duskpaw. From where she half-crouched, ready to slink over the roots of an old pine, she gave a soft gasp and froze. She hadn't noticed Sagebristle. She should have been more careful, she shouldn't have gone out, she should have just listened, because now she was going to tell Kier, and Duskpaw was going to go up on trial again and this time nobody would stand up for her, nobody would die in her place (however involuntary the first time was). Everybody knew that something was off with Sagebristle, even if the full story wasn't available aside from her new memory problems, but still she had resumed duties as a Royal Guard — surely she wouldn't let Duskpaw get away with such disobedience. She didn't sound mad, but sometimes Kier didn't sound mad either, and she knew the extents of his cruelty. 

"Sagebristle." Her voice was quiet, quivering, "I — I'm sorry, I needed the air, I — please don't tell anyone, I'll go back, I swear." Perhaps if Duskpaw asked nicely enough, perhaps if she offered to repay Sagebristle, or perhaps her connection to another previous Loyal Guard — Primrosetuft, her mother — would put her in better graces with the she-cat, but it was impossible to say. She still felt her attempts would be useless. 

Duskpaw's pelt crawled with shame, not only because of the fact she had been caught blatantly breaking the rules, but because of Sagebristle's reaction, the sense of pity in her words. It felt undeserved. I snuck out plenty when I was your age. She knew it had been different, then — Duskpaw only had a glimpse of life before Kier (she was on the older side of the current apprentices, still a kit then, but a kit who knew of a Nightclan without the class system, without such cruel rules), but she let Sagebristle believe it made her feel better anyway. A midnight walk is no big deal. That same crawling feeling returned, tinged with a sense of panic. The issue was that it did matter, that Duskpaw could be propped up on trial again for so much as stepping foot out of camp, let alone trailing the border, and there was the smallest inkling of anger, inexplainable anger, that Sagebristle didn't see that, that she was going on as if it were fine, as if she shouldn't be in trouble. After another tense moment, it faded — to be angry at Sagebristle wasn't fair, she realized, especially since the she-cat had just returned, and the apparent gap in her memories certainly was troublesome. 

Tentatively stepping out into the open, Duskpaw slipped out from behind the tree she had froze behind and stopped a few steps away from the she-cat, shoulders still hunched, like she was trying to make herself as small as possible. 

"No, I'm not." She answered simply, quietly, looking uncomfortable in her place beside the Royal Guard. "I just needed to think, and the camp was too stuffy, that's all. What about you?" Her paws fidgeted.