It was dawn, peaceful as some would say, the way the sun would peer over the trees, reflecting off of ponds of water, creating sparkling diamonds. The sun gently breezed through windows, creating pools off a beautiful, warm and golden aura to greet the sleeping bodies of the Pasta's.

In one's room, however, the bed duvet was messy, and the furniture itself was empty.

The only sign that it's occupier had left, was a piece of lined paper on the table, the handwriting somewhat scruffier than it usually would be. On the note, it said;

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇɴᴏᴜɢʜ ᴏғ ᴍᴏsᴛ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ.

ɪ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘɪɴᴇss, ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛᴀᴋᴇs ɪᴛ ᴀᴡᴀʏ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴍᴇ, ᴀᴅᴍɪᴛᴛᴇᴅʟʏ, ᴛʜɪs ᴅᴏᴇs ɴᴏᴛ ᴀᴘᴘʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ʏᴏᴜ, ʙᴜᴛ, sᴛɪʟʟ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ sᴛᴀɴᴅ ɪᴛ. ɪ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ɪᴛ ᴀɴʏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ.

ɢᴏᴏᴅʙʏᴇ, ɪ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ɪɴ ᴛᴏᴜᴄʜ, ᴏᴄᴄᴀsɪᴏɴᴀʟʟʏ.

The runaway was already leaving the forest, his bag packed. And Toby had no intentions in looking back.