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This was all...very great deal of things G'ar did not want to think about that he was in fact being forced to think about now. The small knot of anxious fear at the core of his chest seemed to pulse heat, and twist and writhe and grow, frantic and grabbing to try to claw its way out. Wit his face buried against Marasemeth's hide it wouldn't be noticeable, the way his eyes were so wide and horror-struck. Put her somewhere beautiful? Have to visit? For one hysterical moment he could imagine, with crystal clarity, himself standing on some distant ridge, over the still-rotting half-corpse of a Sunny mostly eaten by thread. The sunset beyond was radiant, exhultant, but all he could see were the grubs, burrowing in and out, in and out, exposed muscle and bile and bon—

Marasemeth's thoughts were like a physical blow, staggering G'ar and bringing him, shuddering and drenched in cold sweat, back to reality. His own desperate mental whimper was pitiful in comparison, but the blue did little more than press a little closer. I don't think she noticed. You only seemed to grow distant a moment. G'ar, you did not look like your feelings, I promise. The blue crooned to his wreck of a rider, and even bothered to pass along his own memories of what Sunny had gone on to say in time for G'ar to catch the end of the conversation as if he'd only perhaps been pensive a moment, and not locked in the grip of his own terrible mind.

"Promise me on that then, Sunny. Just don't go flying into death, and...we'll try to go out more often. Yes?" He pulled away from Mara then, all gentle and charming faced once more and looked up, over Sunny and Altoth, out into the darkening sky over Western. Pure, blessedly clear skies. No thread tonight, on paper or in reality. "After all, I can't be expected to...do that," And Mara was there to steady him against the creeping imaginations, always. "If you don't show me some beautiful places first."