Mindlesspaw breathed in the slightly musky midnight air that was stiller than a statue and, in the awakening of spring, slightly perfumed with the distant scents of wildflowers that had been swirled into camp on a spring breeze that had only recently come to a slow stop, leaving the sweet fragrance hang in the growing darkness. Camp life was winding down to a slow stop, with cats content to chatter and eat their dinners with friends and family as the sun fell in the sky like the draining of a candle to the bottom of its wick, and in kind it soon it would whittle itself down to darkness. Already the shapes of camp looked like shadows by the dim sky, and if he allowed fantasy to merge with reality, the entire scene almost looked like a shadow-puppet play, each cat just a character that, when the sun was finally snuffed to darkness, would bleed into each-other and disappear into the star-speckled night. 

But that was all fantasy. Even as it grew darker and darker, the gentle hum of conversation continued. Nothing would disappear, and in fact the steady consistency was almost mocking. With a sigh, the medicine cat apprentice considered sneaking out of camp on his own. It was likely a dumb, impulsive choice; he was young, relatively frail, and barely able to navigate the terrain alone during the day and required a warrior at his side. But the clan camp felt claustrophobic and seemed to grow only more so as night settle, escapism was calling his name.