Thomas head was throbbing as he woke up outside an old wooden building, if you could even call it that. The last thing he remembered was the safety of his home, the one he shared with Newt in the town Salem. How he had gotten to this place was still a mystery to him, just as much as his sudden appearance in these woods were. However, the boy was known for making quick assumptions without thinking it through before. Ultimately, triggered by the house behind him, he thought of his time in the Glade where he lived with around thirty other boys around his age, surrounded by giant walls that kept them both save and were their prison. It didn’t make sense, of course, considering he had escaped the Glade, had walked through the Scorch with it’s burning sun and the stinging sand and had at some point destroyed this very Glade. But instead of pondering about the location he was in, he ultimately thought that this had all just been a dream. Maybe he had just woken up after he had gotten stung by a Griever on purpose, maybe they had ditched him here because they had lost hope that he would wake up again. Quickly, the boy with the long limbs got on his feed and did what he did best: running. He applied no thought or logic, he just took left and right turns whenever he thought of it, his stamina quickly reclining as he dodged the trees and their roots. His little run ended rather quickly when he bumped into another person, sending him stumbling back a few steps. “Fuck. Sorry, shank.”
