Acorn woke up and dug his way out of prison and drank water out of a dirty puddle and ran through the woods.

“Are we still trying this?” Cornflower asked him. “Why do you care so much?”

“There’s no reason to just give up,” he growled. “We can’t just lay down and die!”

“That’s a first for you,” it laughed bitterly.

“I’m trying to make a difference, goddamn it. I’m trying.”

“Are you? Or do you just feel guilty?”

He knew he would have to find shelter, and soon, but his legs were aching. He settled for cowering in the first bush he could find while he caught his breath.

“We have to keep moving,” it chastised him.

He took a few gulps of air and then replied: “I know. But I don’t want to pass out from exhaustion.”

The rain was coming down hard now, and he was far from safety. He was lucky if he would make it to the end of the night.

“I have to find my denmates,” he meowed, bracing himself. “That’s the only way I’ll make it through this.”

The Leaves relied on him, but they also looked down upon him. He was never truly sure exactly how he was regarded by them, but he knew he must have been essential to some degree – why else would they have kept him around for so long?

He had to try. It was the only thing he had.