47

The Wadi held on to her pair-bond’s neck as she ran through a strange canyon. Strange, but familiar. She tasted the air with her scent tongue and realized they had come this route before, but somehow the canyon had been brighter back then, and they had stopped at a watering shaft and refreshed themselves.

There was no stopping this time. Her pair-bond ran right past the watering shaft and kept up her frantic pace. The Wadi held on with the smallest amount of claw possible, enough to not skitter off her pair-bond’s back, but not enough to cause the pain-smoke. She hated causing the pain-smoke.

What her pair-bond leaked now was urgency. And fear, though not for herself.

This latter wisp of emotion nearly drifted by unnoticed, even though the column was strong and bright to the Wadi’s senses. The problem was: it had become ever-present. Like the twin monsters of light that dominated her old home, that column of fear for others seemed to hang everywhere they went, solid and ferocious. For the Wadi, it was like a giant fang you soon curl your tail around and ignore because it has hung idle in your den for so long.

The Wadi tensed up as her pair-bond turned down another canyon. Odd, these canyons. All at sharp angles and pocked with square holes, all disgorging more large beasts like her pair-bond. Like her in size, anyway, but different in the tendrils of smoke that trailed out from their bodies—exuded from their very thoughts and feelings.

Her pair-bond ran as hard and fast as a Wadi now, her breathing raspy and labored. The Wadi exuded as much calming scent as she could, urging the pounding pulse she felt with her tail to relax itself. She also put out courage smoke. She curled her head around her pair-bond’s neck and released as much of both as she could, forgetting her need to conserve her energy.

She waited to see if her pair-bond would respond.

It was so frustrating, trying to communicate. But she had only herself to blame. With the hell being wrought in her stomach—the ever-present urge to eat and drink and nourish her eggs—it left little energy for anything else. So very little energy. And even less time.

ѻѻѻѻ

Molly weaved her way through a dense crowd, gasping for breath as she slowed. Ahead of her, the street pinched tight with rubble, leaving just enough room for pedestrians to squeeze through one at a time. Lokians pushed their way single-file, hands urging those ahead while buggies blasted their horns in futile frustration.

Molly veered out of the crush of people and scampered up the edge of the rubble, passing the roadblock. Two younger kids were up even higher, sifting through the rocks and laughing. Beyond them loomed the tail of a Navy bomber, its gleaming hull miraculously intact and leaning out over the street like a sundial. As she scampered down the mound of shattered building, Molly checked the street numbers to the side, looking for the address of the Navy office. Four twenty six. She had missed it.