"Well done, my boy." The ghost of John Parry faded quickly into the background it was becoming part of. "My son..." He whispered on words so quietly they could have been the wind. And the words were the wind and John Parry had merged into it. John Parry, wind, both moved with strong intent, fierce purpose. The wind swept over the battlefield feeling blood vibrate against its flowing path, heat rising from the armies below, wings sweeping through it, fires sucking at it. Still the wind blew past, escaping the battle on the plains more succienctly than any combatant could ever hope. It was unmarred by the experience. Things happened in the wind, below the wind, through the wind, still it continued. It was not a single strand though, it was something that touched everything in a vast, expansive caress. Touching everything, the wind slipped through the holes in the worlds, resounding slightly along the window thread edges, cut immeasurably thin, but composed of the abyss itself. And it came upon a familiar world. All worlds connected by a passable means are instantly familiar to the wind, but there was a scent in the air of this gust and it carried into a city. Past streets and houses, cars and people. Many people didn't notice, it wasn't the strongest of smells and others were stronger and forced their way into importance. Somewhere dinner was being served, it picked its way into the wind and fought for dominance until it reached the back porch of Mrs. Cooper's house. There she was, Elaine Parry. Yellow blouse, red shoes. Her trousers didn't match, but Will had packed for her after all, he knew she wouldn't have the nicest wardrobe to choose from. And the fight continued, showing more passion than Asriel's forces held in their injustice, the slight smell overtook the powerful reeking garlic and brushed past Elaine's face. It was a moment, a pause, a kiss, a scent, a flood.
She broke into a thrilled sigh and tears appeared. She knew that, she knew it so clearly! Not as well as she knew herself, she could never know herself as well as John had. He was perfect, and that scent she'd known so well - thick brown soap. Hard stuff he'd pick at with fingernails until he could gain enough of it to work up a foam underneath their old faucet. And then - she knew it - he'd put his hands together as if in prayer, make an 'O' shape, and blow lightly. There was an art to it, he'd tried teaching her, but she could never get the bubbles out right. It was okay - he'd held her soapy hands tightly - he would blow bubbles for her. It would be raining, a little crystal falling spring. He'd catch one on his forhead, laughing, she'd reach up to pop it. Their old kitchen, their old house. So long ago now.

The wind passed and gave in its battle to keep the scents at bay. So long, all he'd wanted was that goodbye. He needed a goodbye for her: his wife, his friend. He loved her too much to leave her without goodbye. The last intent of John Parry fell away into happiness and was swept over into a bag of chicken leaving a grocery store. Now, he could truly end.

Now, she could truly continue. That one passing breeze had brought so much clarity. Elaine Parry tried again, the memory was so fresh it amazed her. She poked her memory again, another moment arose. Again she searched, Will: young, crying, a cut on his leg, gritting his teeth against the iodine. But he trusted her to make it better. Did she? Always, he'd say, always. She continued searching her own past. The fog she'd grown warily accoustomed to was gone. It took too much to break through it, she could only try to ignore in the right ways. But it wasn't here now. She had at least now. And for now, she sat content to love her two men as much and as hard as she could before love fell into just a steady constant again.