Message on the Wind

The wind smelled of smoke, charred wood with the bitter scent of paper and cloth, paint and melting metal being consumed in an inferno across the mountains. The acrid scent clung to the back of Shadow's throat, leaving his eyes watering. Flecks of twisted ash floated in the breeze, disintegrating into smears on everything they touched.

The ash caught in Interceptor's coat, leaving him speckled with white and light grey. One particularly solid twist landed on his ear, puffing into dust when the dog twitched. Interceptor whined, scratching at his ear with one leg. His eyes were watering too.

Shadow reached out to briefly touch Interceptor's head. The dog quieted, sitting back on his haunches.

They had been partners for a long time, through years of wandering, painful education, and work that most would find unsavory. Shadow rarely spoke, but he didn't need to; they communicated well enough without words. A look was a statement, a touch a message.

'Patience, I'm almost done.'

Shadow turned his attention back to the task at hand. He knelt, one knee against the hard ground. A small square of paper lay across his leg, its edges fluttering in the breeze as he pinned it down with one finger. He wrote a brief message on the paper's white side with a pencil stub he took from his sleeve. Five words, no more. Then the pencil stub once more disappeared and he deftly began to fold the paper; the other side of it was deep crimson. He wanted his message to catch attention in a world suddenly grey with destruction.

The paper became a bird made of precise folds. He held it up in the palm of his hand, offering it to the breeze, and it took wing.

He stood, and Interceptor did as well. The walked with the wind at their backs, their eyes fixed west. They were nothing but shadows in the smoldering light of a smoke shrouded sun. More mountains stood in their way, and there was no knowing what stood on the other side. The map of the world he had known was scrambled and torn. But even if he did not know where it was, he had a destination.

Ahead, the wind carried his message.

Five words:

'Relm, I will find you.'