Private Border we first met in the summer ✦ meadow

[Deadwood]

{$title} deadwood visits a place he'd much sooner forget

——————————————— Skin and bones, and brains and blood ☾

He couldn't believe he had tricked Froststorm. Well, it was sort of a trick. He was teaching Meadowpaw things, sure, but he certainly wouldn't call her his apprentice or anything. He was only... well, he felt nineteen moons, he was in no position to have a proper apprentice. If he was lucky, hopefully Meadow would never meet his father.... but of course, he has to act like he has an apprentice now. Like Froststorm had done so many times, he had to start meddling—and meddling started with getting out of this star-forsaken place.

The first thing he felt was... a bit sick, really. His head spun with the sudden smells, the sudden colors, the brightness of the world he had long left. Deadwood let out a low whine of pain, pale eyes scrunched up from the sun beaming through the leaves, illuminating ghostly, tangled fur that had not seen light for a very long time. His ears rang, and he could just barely parse the song of birds through the noise. It was... strange. It was so strange, he almost forgot what birds sounded like. The only reason he could still remember what songs sounded like was because he refused to forget, but he always had to hum the songs to himself. He could never sing very loud, not in the Dark Forest. That would practically be asking to be ripped apart—he couldn't remember the words to any of the things he used to sing when he was younger, but at least he knew the melodies. If it was good enough for the birds, it was damn sure good enough for him.

It took him a moment to gather his thoughts, the ringing in his ears fading to a dull hum—ah, insects. That must be what that was. It was still bright as hell, sure, but it was slowly becoming more bearable. Slowly, his eyes opened to a heavy-lidded crack, and finally the details of the world started to flood in. The trees were luscious, the grass and weeds beneath his feet looked soft, though of course he couldn't really feel it. He could sure imagine it, though. Between his feet, a small rodent scampered—yep, that was enough evidence to prove to him he was still as dead as ever. No mouse would ever get that close to a normal cat. Deadwood took a deep breath of the air... but something, something was wrong. Something felt sickeningly familiar, the warmth of the area was inviting to him, like a home he had long since forgotten. He couldn't... no, he wouldn't be—

The tom stumbled back, and his back connected with rough bark, paws becoming entangled with the gnarled roots of some great tree. Deadwood spun, and his pale eyes opened far wider than they should've.

He was back. He was back where he had died, his bones were underneath his feet. He had bled here, had suffered here, he was still....
With a small whine, the tom stumbled away from the tree, instead scrambling into the heavy undergrowth. He had to get out of here.

They followed us into the trees

Wearing crowns of twigs and leaves

• @Meadowpaw come get your ghost
• 
  Deadwood
  ☾—Dark Forest Warrior | 19 Moons
  ☾—He/Him
  ☾—"SPEECH", 'THOUGHTS', ATTACK
  ☾—A thin, dark brown tabby tom with pale eyes
  #A68040 #ACAB9C