I DO OWN IT! I own it I own it I own it I own it I own it!(Just not the copyrights, which is all that matters)

This is the sequel to a story I wrote, Fire. It can easily be read on its own, so if you want to read this story first, it doesn't matter much. If you like it, then please go read Fire.

And, even compared to what I normally write, this is pretty nasty. Not so much this chapter as the next, but the story as a whole is very, very dark. You've been warned.

Burned

By Farla

He awoke, if that is the word, during the day, with soft patches of light dappling the earth below after being filtered through the gentle green tree leaves.

It was not like awaking from sleep. He had been dreaming, he felt, but it was not like sleeping. The dream had happened, then he was here, without the slow in-between time that he felt should be there. He did not remember awaking from sleep before, but he felt confident this was not the way it should have happened

He remembered, and he didn't. It wasn't hazy and confused, but clear. Some things he knew totally and utterly, others were not there. They were not hidden; they were as gone as if they had been cut out by a knife-

A knife. His dream, though, is hazy, even if his memory isn't. And the word-thought of knife touches something in it. He does not know what it is, but something tells him he does not wish to remember, should try to forget-ignore the knife-thought. That thought, the one telling him he should not try to remember, does not give any hint as to why. It simply is, much as he simply is. So he obeys.

He looks around at his surroundings. The soft light in the forest did not hurt his eyes, yet he felt certain both that if he left the forest and went into direct sunlight it would hurt, and that it did not hurt before.

The thought of before does not hint at what before is. He has no memory of being out in sunlight and it not hurting his eyes. He has no memory of being in sunlight and it hurting his eyes. He simply knows. Without any memories to tell him he should try to remember and not just accept, he accepts it and does not see anything strange with his lack of knowledge.

The kind golden dots on the forest floor reassure him, pushing his dream, if it was a dream, further back. It makes him feel like this is his home, a safe place, though he knows with total certainty that this is not what his home once was, before, even though he does not remember before.

His forehead hurts. The hurt reminds him of something, and again the inner voice reminds him that he should not try to remember. Again, he obeys.

He tries to look at himself. He does not remember what he looks like, and something tells him he should. He sees a black paw-

Dark shadows with glowing eyes walking into the moonlight-No. The voice tells him he should not try to remember, and nothing challenges it.

He tries to talk. He may not have memories, but some things he knows. While he doesn't ever remember speaking, he can form thoughts and move his mouth to say them.

~What am I?~

The words do not come out as they should. He knows this though he does not know what they should sound like. But that only flickers through his mind, for the words remind him. Unbidden, a knife appears in his mind's eye, a blackened, charred lump (the shape is indistinguishable) holding it, red drops of blood -his blood, something tells him-appearing in the cracks. His forehead throbs. He lets out a cry of anguish before the nightmare envelops him and he remembers it.

"Hound!"

I really shouldn't be writing this. I still haven't finished Midnight's Story, and I've only got one stupid chapter to go. And school's starting tomorrow. Yay……