I'm a restless soul, they make the very best ghosts...

If this was what it felt like to be a lingering spirit, the wraith of someone who could not let go—if this was what it was like to haunt, he pitied those who were trapped in limbo forever. It was a fire burning up inside, an itch in his legs, and in his mind. Nothing could capture his attention long enough, nothing seemed interesting enough. The only thing moderately tempting was to run until he fell, but he was sure he'd grow bored of that after only a couple of strides. He couldn't sleep it off either, because how do you fall asleep when your mind is reeling? With a snarl etching itself on his face, Mauja raised one front hoof, and struck the ground angrily. Maybe he should just throw himself into the flames and have it be over and done with, once and for all; the dry earth stirred into dust when he touched it, and as predicted, it did nothing to soothe him.

The stranger's sudden cry had him snapping around—but the horizon was empty, and his heart lurched in his chest. Had she-? Yes, there her brown body was, careening down towards the churning flames—it made him feel sick, that brief, horrifying instant that she was free-falling towards the fire. To think that she'd taken her life. To think that he witnessed it. That someone could throw it all away, into such a painful end—he'd contemplated it himself more times than he cared to admit, but only for the long, dark sleep.

He always wanted to wake up again.

She was falling and she wouldn't be able to.

I don't want to die.

His heart was thundering in his chest, mouth dry; it was the taste of terror and insight. Just a moment later, too short to count or even label, the flames roared and rose his way, covering his view. It had all happened so fast—just like that. He wanted to stumble back, to catch his breath and take in what he'd seen, but he stood transfixed, pupils burning painfully from the harsh light. Why? Why had she done it? What had driven her to it? And why, as he was watching? Did she want someone to remember? His mind was reeling; barely the blink of an eye had passed, but it felt like years. The echo of her shout had faded from his mind. Had it been her last? Was he the only witness to her death?

He felt numb. He felt numb even as the flames, funneled by her first wing stroke, fell back to reveal a dark shape hurtling across the shimmering air: she cried out again, angrily, and for a moment all he could think was that she'd returned from death, turned into some vengeful monster.

Maybe she was angry he'd done nothing to stop her.
But how could he have known?

With a total lack of grace she crashed just a couple of yards away from him, and as if in a dream he turned to keep staring at her. She was, obviously, very alive; her wings were smoking and she was stomping one of them viciously, trying to put out the flames. The air smelled acrid, of burning hair, and his heart skipped another beat. He knew that smell too well. The fire whispered in the back of his mind, memories swirling just beneath the surface. He knew what it sounded like up close, crackling.. in your ears, your eyes, your throat. His mouth was still dry, tasting of terror and flame.

Finally the fire went out, and the girl stood still, trembling, with her charred wings on macabre display. Mauja remained motionless too, still over by the Heart's edge—still numb. He said nothing. What the hell had he just seen? What had she done?

"Why aren't you dead?" he finally asked, voice dry, hoarse; accusing, even. She fell into the flames. He knew what it was like to burn. She should be dead, but she wasn't.