Everything hurts, in that familiar-ache of yesterday, yesteryear… decades gone to dust and grass and silence. He blinks, but his vision still can't adjust he presses his fingertips to his eyelids, and in moments cannot see - he curls over his knees. People in reds, yellows, greens - white clothes blurring into the ground. Red can see everything for miles the ground is clear of snow, gone down to permafrost and patches of ice. Red stares up at the sky, the shock blanket soft on his shoulders.
