She is lying flat on her back and staring dazedly up at Gunther, who is shouting and shouting and shouting at her – he is incandescent with rage. Which is exactly why he was never supposed to know! Damn it, damn it, he was not supposed to…

And then the laughter starts – horrible, persistent laughter dancing around the periphery of her awareness, scraping – grating – a terrible, disconcerting sound. It is the laughter of a lunatic, the laughter of the damned. And then Gunther is gone, and –

[Blink]

And then he is back again, no longer just crouching over her, either; now he is gathering her into his arms, holding her, cradling her, lifting her, and she feels his lips moving against her ear. He is whispering something, but what? What?

[Blink]

A horse moving under her, galloping full out, running like the wind. Arms around her, holding her tight; strong arms, masculine arms, but not Gunther's arms. Barely conscious, she still knows this with stark, immediate clarity. The body she's pressed against is not his – even the scent of this man is… not Gunther. The world feels distant, clouded over, but the panic that is suddenly rising in her is clear and urgent and breathtakingly huge. She's not even curious about who it is that's holding her – only one thing matters and that one thing is that it isn't Gunther. Where is Gunther!? WHERE IS –

[Blink]

Wind. Great, buffeting gusts of it. Wingbeats. And a voice she knows; a voice she loves, though it is most certainly not Gunther's.

"Jane!"

The horse is being reined up. Dragon is landing beside them, throwing up clods of dirt as he does so because it is a hasty landing, a clumsy, panicked landing, and then his face is hanging over her, blocking out the sky, blocking out everything.

The horse is skittering and shying, prancing sideways, barely controllable. It is terrified. That doesn't surprise Jane in the least. What does surprise her is the expression on Dragon's face; he looks every bit as horror-stricken as the animal beneath her, if not more so. She tries to raise a hand, to press it to his snout, both to give and receive a little bit of comfort. She tries, but she can't. She just can't, and –

[Blink]

Commotion. Footsteps hurrying, voices shouting. Blur of activity all around her. She is being eased down to the ground with incredible gentleness and care. She fights to open her eyes but when she does, the mad jumble of faces and ramparts and shadows and sky is so overwhelming that she lets them fall shut again almost instantly. It is more information than she is capable of processing at the moment; she is dizzy with it.

So she senses rather than sees it when Dragon takes off again – he is flying away, leaving her here. Gunther has left her and now Dragon has left her and she doesn't understand why, why? What is going on, will everyone abandon her? She's so scared, dear God in heaven she's so scared and she feels so wrong. Just deeply and fundamentally wrong, wrong on every level, and – and –

[Blink]

Faces above her – hanging. Hovering. Faces she knows, or at least, faces she feels she should know. She can't name them, though; she can't make her mind work that well, though she tries.

Young woman with a long, thick plait of dark hair. Gentle hands sponging Jane's forehead. Huge dark eyes, brimming with tears.

Older woman; pale, severe. Hair pulled tightly back. Manner of someone who is usually quite competent; all brisk efficiency. But she doesn't look brisk now. She looks scared half to death, completely overwhelmed and just… lost, somehow.

Young man in blue. Head in his hands, sandy blond hair spilling through his fingers. She cannot even see his face, but she doesn't need to see his expression to understand how distraught he is. Presently he takes one of her hands and presses it to his lips, and –

[Blink.]

And there are more, they come and go, but she feels so separate from all of them. They are so pale… ethereal… they seem downright… well… ghostly.

Are they ghosts?

…Or is she?