Grizzley's Vision

She’s small again. The world is taller, louder—too bright. Fire burns a bit too orange, shadows a bit too purple. Smoke stings her eyes. She sees them just as she remembers: a gang of howling barbarians, war paint smeared, axes flashing as they tear through her home. One of them grabs Willow and drags her away.

But this time… something’s wrong.

Their footsteps squelch instead of thud. War paint runs the wrong way, sliding like ink up a neck. An arm stretches too far, then snaps back like rubber. The sound of their screams warps, echoing like it’s underwater. The scene judders, colours smearing—and for a heartbeat the barbarians flicker into tall, oily, too-long figures with half-made faces and pit-black eyes.

Willow reaches toward Grizzly, fingers straining—
and in that pulsing, warped moment, Grizzly knows:
this isn’t how it really happened. Something has painted over the truth.