It comes back, faster and harder this time. Like the recollection of a memory purge only he knows now it's not. It feels like days worth, and some of it vivid, but all of it a rushing deluge in an already alarm filled processor. He throws his head forward, clutching his helm, his whole frame shaking as he endures the memory dump. There's a keening whine in the distance...and he realizes it's him. But there's other voices too. Familiar ones...

He forces his eyes open, optics irising down until he can see past the flashlight's beam. Recognition strikes him but so does comprehension, a choking sound of both horror and relief.

The light. 

He'd feared it, because it banished him.

Wing surges forward, a desperate leap for safety, for himself and for others, launching clear over both humans and into the halo of the trailer's porch light. He has enough presence of mind--instincts honed from centuries of training--to tuck his head and shoulder into a roll, but not enough to end on his feet. He lands prone, graceless, but it matters little as long as he's reached sanctuary.