She Was Fire, and He Burned

It was her face, he later came to learn, her face that he had remembered through all those years. Not the way she had walked (although the whole memory remained intact through his ordeal, just like all the others), or the way her fiery red hair whipped back in the wind as she shifted through bodies littering the battlefield, intent on the only kill she would make during those long four months.

It was her face.