10.5.98
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"Hollyfade..."

"Why?" The nurse stroked the newborn's oddly-mottled, fuzzy hair with a gentle finger.

"Because he was born when the holly began to fade." The boy's mother gestured out the window, indicating the weak spring sunlight where it filtered in through the tops of tall spruce and pine trees.

The orderly nodded silently. There was something strange about the woman -and- her son, but her job was to take care of them, not assess their mental competency. "Ah... Of course. Well, I need to finish my rounds.... I'll be back in an hour or so."

"Mother...?" He was terrified. He'd gone to sleep, only to be awakened by an acrid smell and a strange sound... Fear of the flames lapping at his doorframe prickled along his spine, the skin at the back of his neck tightening. He had to get out of here... But he wanted his mother, his father... He couldn't make himself move, though, could not edge past the heat and smoke filling up the hall.

"Help me..." It's a plaintive wail, the boy crouching down once more, slinking towards his window. He didn't want to leave, he didn't think he could make himself leave... Pressing his face to the glass, he squints at the shadowed ground. Too far... too far for him to jump. He couldn't... He _had_ to. He couldn't stay where he was, either. He fought with the casement,heedless of the window's weight as it slipped down and trapped his fingers between bottom and sill.

There were other distractions, besides the sinister sounds of the rest of the house burning. The pinching, creeping burning on the back of his neck had radiated down his spine, out over his shoulders, trickling down his arms and legs. He seemed to be growing stronger, his vision sharpening, the scent of the fire and the ash thickening in his mouth and nose. A faint keening of sirens drifted into his ears, snapping his head up from freeing his fingers yet again. He couldn't see any lights, though, and he wasn't sure why the sudden crash of weakened lumber from downstairs nearly deafened him.

The back of his head ached now, the pain curling down and suffusing his face... He hurt all over. The room spun around him, dizziness sending him to his knees. Once Holly's vision cleared, the windowsill stood out in stark relief. Dazedly, he drew himself up and clambered out, faintly startled by the fact that the eddies of fresh air swirling into his face tasted so -clean-... And there was a sudden confidence in him, swirling up from some hidden reserve as he balanced there, three stories above the ground.

The branches of the elm growing some ten feet out from the house had never looked so inviting in all of his short life... Panic clutched coldly at his stomach, threatening to trap him there. How had he ever imagined that he could get down? Holly shook his head and stared at the tree. Of -course- he could get down, from here. The idea that he couldn't was silly! Cool reason damped his panic, allowed him to gage his position on the sill and the position of the nearest feasible landing-place.

Crouching again, he frowns to himself as he finds that his body is responding strangely... Not incorrectly, but -differently-. The exquisite stretch and pull of unfamiliar muscles actually distracted him from his plight, the boy taking pleasure in his new-found stability. Hunching down again, his carefully-eyeballed jump was discareded in favor of an ill-planned leap of fright, caused by the casement's falling shut on his tail...

"Only the Grace of God, only the Grace of God..." The man bending over him said, gently withdrawing his hand from the side of the boy's neck and shaking his head. "Can you speak?"

"Mmh..." Was all he managed, closing his eyes again. Everything was dull with cinders,