He flinched away. He didn't want... sympathy or healing or anything yet. All Jonothon wanted was to bury what was left of his face in his hands, close his eyes, and... and maybe curl up on the forest floor. He could stay there. He didn't eat, didn't breathe, he could just... Be. And wait there until the fire finally consumed the rest of him.

Just wait.

The physical pain was fading, now. It was just the flames, twisting inside of him, curling the few leaves that had survived around him. Would they let him lay down? He'd try, anyhow, and rest his face in ash.

Just this once, he was thankful that he couldn't cry.