Heartbeats race. Pulses rise. Hooves tear into dusty earth, furrows of frenzy beneath the sound of distant thunder and the cry of snapping trees. In the shade and through the light a smear of crimson can be seen, vermilion, silver, gold, shades of fire and metal, the figure darts from tree to tree, crashing through clearings and dancing over creeks. One might wonder why she runs, what demon rides, laughing, at her feathered heels; and one might keep wondering, for they would find themselves hard-pressed to stop the flying filly.

And even if they stopped her, they would reach no satisfying response. Why the fire girl runs is beyond even her, she merely knows she must, that there is something waiting for her, something vast, and exciting, and good. No rationalism, no reason- instinct pulls the muscles now, playing with sinew as a child in the sand. She trips, stumbles, catches herself and laughs, excitable legs scrambling to maintain composure, articulate eyes telling a story of joy. Somewhere behind her a large-eared fox barks, his voice the echo of her ripe, bursting heart. In that moment she is a child, a youth, not a too-grown-up filly who has forgotten how to smile.

But every moment must past, and if you watch very closely, you can watch this one die in the girl's eyes.

"Lace?"

Heart still races. Pulse still pounds. But the casing of it all is suddenly still, broken, a frozen moment in an infinite space that threatens to combust at the slightest touch. A spinning leaf released from the tree but afraid of the ground, the girl stands in emptiness and her mind reels, her emotions churn. I look a mess, one voice muses; he looks... less dead, another offers unhelpfully. He must be shocked, floats by on absent thoughts, and above it all, beneath it all, inside it all is the fervent cry of one word.

"Lace."

If she could be paler, she would; if her eyes could be larger, they would, and if she could say anything else, anything better, well, she would do that, too. But this, this is something different, something she cannot contain, something she cannot express, this swarm of emotion and relief and rage, guilt and love and hope and fear. She blinks, blank, her expression empty, and tries again to make words form on her leaden tongue. A grunt. An "Ah..." Nothing of use. She stops, and swallows, and as she does a shadow races past her feet to project himself at the silver stallion. Natraj's happiness is palpable to her, and as he presses himself against their lost friend, the girl breathes deep, and feels a tear form at the edge of her eye, then another, and a third. She swallows, again, and speaks. "We thought you were-"

She chokes. In her mind, the confession plays out, the words she has dared not speak echoing in her head. I thought you were dead. I thought everyone was dead.