Smoke from the pyres licked the sky.
Black and slick, it stank of death. The odour pervaded everything these days.
Everywhere Laynin looked, she saw exhausted faces, grey from grief and lack of sleep. A few attempted joviality, but it was short lived and not well received. The war was over, but the aftermath would wear on long after the embers had gone cold. Families without fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, homes…
Laynin stepped toward the pyre. The heat was overpowering. The smoke stung her eyes. Tears coursed down her cheeks, dried in moments. They left tracks on her skin, a path in the ash and dust caked there. Her heart lay heavy in her chest, a weight that pressed down on her, leaving her breathless and hollow.
Her closest friends lay tangled in the fire, charred to little more than a memory. Even those were becoming blurred; Zannis' face lying still in death, Luthin's throat neatly sliced, blood pooling. Times of laughter sat in the far reaches of Laynin's mind, harder and harder to reach the more the fire burned.
The heat became more and more intense. Flames started rising and spreading, grabbing at her like long fingers.
"Laynin."
She whirled around, but there was no one standing near her.
"Laynin. Come with us. You'll have fun, I promise." In the centre of the fire, Zannis' face appeared. She smile and beckoned to Laynin.
"You're dead," Laynin said. She tried to step back, but was unable to move.
Zannis looked downward. Her mouth opened in surprise.
Then she started to scream.