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Tlocatl was not so careful with his flames. They burned bright and without regard. Ever since Edith's death, the stallion was not interested in much of anything. His mind was elsewhere. Some days he could only see her bright eyes and brilliant leg marking. Other days, he heard her laughter around every corner. And yet most days he only relived her death. His life had become a pathetic excuse. He ate, but only because his body did it on its own - snatching up grubs and any other creature that might be too slow to escape his gaping maw.

Tonight, he rested against a tree as mangled and destroyed as himself. Both were twisted memories of what once was and barely holding on to life. He slept standing, the comfort of burnless flames surrounding him and offering what they could.

And while he slept, he dreamed. His dream went back and forth to their last night of being a family and the night his family was destroyed. His muscles twitched from old hurts. His ears shimmered, hearing old screams. And his throat quivered from old mourning.

But what was most obvious was how this burning flame was oblivious to the world around him.

Tlocatl was watching Edith's life ebbing from her eyes, a new vision that he had not seen before. This happened sometimes; his mind relived visions of things that did not actually happen - as his thoughts twisted the reality that was, and is, and what may be.

As her eyes dimmed, he could see a new light sparking from her wings, and now they were on fire and burned until they ceased to exist. And just before she died again, her whispered words echoed through his hollow skull - "Careful old man, you might burn down the forest..."

But it was not her voice, but that of the monster her murdered her - Wyrsa.

His eyes shot open, and his muscles braced to the invasion that so often were her coyote teeth tearing through them.

Tlocatl's head swung around in short jerks as he tried to see in the dark that was eaten up by his fire. There. He saw her.... as pure as day, her scaled body reflecting in the light.

"Wyrsa..." he growled with pathetic resolve. In the old day, he would have flown... but he hadn't tried that in so long, he did not know if his wings would work any longer.

But as he focused, he saw the slight differences... the bright hair, the embers that seemed only an extension of his own. The kalona's mind worked fiercely. No, this was just another mutated vision of the past. If he ignored it, surely it would retreat.

His bones complained as he shifted what little weight he had left off the supporting tree, and turned away from the illusion before him and resettled on the tree.

If you see no evil, then it does not exist.

So engrossed in his flames, Tlocatl did not know her own were getting brighter. He had long ago closed his eyes in an effort to escape to some other dream - maybe a less painful one.

But she called out about a mother. He didn't know Wyrsa's mother, she must of know that. Or was she saying that that skinwalking homewrecker was her mother? Did it matter? Well, she did have the scales. So maybe she took it out on some other unsuspecting male. Mildly, he wondered if she ate the stallion much like a Black Widow ate her mate.

He wouldn't have been surprised.

Oh, but back to the dream at hand... maybe, if he played along then it would end and go on to something else.

Reluctantly, the stallion opened his sore eyes and turned back around. Was she brighter?

Tlocatl gave a deep sigh, "If you must know, aberration, Wyrsa is the name of the boogey-walker. She sneaks up on you and is the destroyer of lives. And if she raised you then you must be just as much a plague on this world."

"Oh, I know her," Tlocatl laughed loudly (more than a harsh bark) and with a voice that spoke of his previous existence - strong, proud, and with the arrogant air that Wyrsa would probably remember with strong resolution to hurt him some more.

"And if she raised you," he looked at her, his own eyes afire with his flames as his mind took on a hint of lucidity while his thoughts fought this newest demon, "then you can be nothing more than a plague. The sons of Wyrsa were raised not by that demonic walker but by a kalona of proven worth - me."

Speaking of them, Tlocatl's heart stirred a bit in his broken ribcage. Oh, he wondered what his sons were up to: Somnium - the son any kalona would be proud of; and Ruadh Wolfbane - whose silence spoke of a darker soul and perhaps a little more of Wyrsa than he might have liked.

Tlocatl looked her over a bit, some of her colorings still obscured by the combine light from both of their flames. Though he sounded more sane, he still was not -- he still thought this a dream and since it would not go away decided to confront it. He did that...occasionally.

"No..." he whispered with fevered emotion. "I am not your father. I have only one daughter, and she is much younger than you..."

And as the words escaped his lips, he thought instantly of the filly he and Edith and left in the safety of the mountains. Deep in his heart, he was was glad she was not in this horrible place - where her mother was savagely murdered and he was not fit to raise one of the flies that undoubtedly swarmed around him when his flames allowed. And somewhere even deeper down, he thought maybe he should go home to find his daughter. But how could he face her - and tell her that her beloved mother was dead?

And with that, his mind moved yet further to Edith, and how the moon reflected off that sleek black face, and only her eyes shone in the light of his face.

Tlocatl could not hold in the sharp mournful keen that caused the tree next to him to shake in shared pity.

Tlocatl did not even see her leave or her last words, his mind wrapped back up in his nightmare.