[ present day ] Home. He hadn't seen it in a while. He took a long breath, inhaling the sounds and smells of the marshy forest around ShadowClan's camp. He stopped at a small stream, noting his reflection in the clear water. He looked different- a scar on one leg, a flimsy nylon shelter collar around his neck, and an absence of the vines that used to perch atop his back. But what he noticed most was his eyes. Still orange, but with something new inside them. An energy. A determination. He was back. --- [ a few moons ago ] Gloamingpaw hissed, his frustration evident in the scowl atop his face as he stalked through the forest. His careless manner as he walked was sure to alert any prey of his presence, but he hardly cared, as stuck in his thoughts as he was. Why was he so unhappy? He wasn't sure, and that fact made him /more/ irritated. He wished he had someone to talk to. Not Bree, not Tarrie, they wouldn't understand. They were always so... happy all the time, so cheerful about everything. How?? It was exhausting. He tried it, too, his fake happy parade facade. He didn't want to complain, to cause trouble, so he had to keep it inside... didn't he? "No one understands!" He yowled aloud, his voice carrying through the trees. Wait. There was one cat who would understand, wouldn't she? He didn't remember her, but maybe, just maybe, it would work. He was going to the Twolegplace. He was going to find his mom. -- So there you have the canonical reason for Gloamingpaw's absense over the last few moons! Of course, he didn't actually find his mom. He was caught and put in a shelter. He was then adopted, hence the collar- but the dogs at his new owner's house didn't much like him, hence the scar. Eventually, he escaped, though. And while the journey wasn't near what he expected, it was what he truly needed.
