Gregori had fallen asleep within minutes of laying down. He had started the night stretched out on his back with his head propped up on his pack and his cloak wrapped around him, but by morning the man was curled up on his side, still wrapped in his cloak, but one arm was under his head like a pillow.
Doeshe moving in the night hadn't disturbed him, and neither did the deer or Sharlee.
The smoke was thick, his eyes and lungs and lips burned. He couldn't breathe, it was choking, and all around him, the screaming.
Hands clapped over his ears. Had to drown out the screaming. It was so loud. So many voices.
Crying, begging, sobbing, and shouting.
Everywhere he turned the flames, the faces contorting in agony as they burned.
No. No. No. No.
Everything was wrong. This was wrong. Why was this happening? Why would it never stop?
Blood. Blood everywhere. It was splattered on his face, his clothes...his hands were dripping with crimson.
Who's blood? Not his.
Daddy.
Gregori jerked awake with a gasp, eyes looking around frantically for...he didn't know what. Panic faded to confusion and he put his face in his trembling hands as he composed himself. It must have been the dream again, but he could never remember when he woke up. The memories were so close, so very frustratingly just out of his reach.
He knew it was important that he remember, but he just couldn't.