Gladebough

Nature is Precious

"You'll never belong if you don't stand up for yourself." Gladebough's clan leader stood over him, blood on her maw from the gash she'd just torn from his leg. "Get up and fight back!"

However, Gladebough refused. He stayed slumped there, eyes downcast until his leader finally snorted and left him there. He stayed for awhile more, ignored by the rest of the clan; not unexpected, to be fair. A Wildclaw clan survived on might and merit, neither of which Gladebough demonstrated. He was a naturalist, a gardener, one with excellent knowledge on which plants could make a healing poultice but little interest in fighting.

When the sun had set, he finally got up. His left leg, permanently scarred from the fight, hurt to put weight on and so he leaned onto his right with the dew claw of the left keeping him upright. While Gladebough's gentle nature made him excellent as a botanist, it wasn't exactly helpful when he was trying to maintain status in a pack. That's why he hadn't even bothered doing so when reaching the Light clan; he was happy to remain at the lowest possible status and tend to his flowers.

Either way... Tonight, a long flight over the ocean was ahead of him. The forest he would leave behind, along with hopefully all the bad memories that followed it.