They head to the back of the store, where the vines grow so thick that they come through the broken glass and spill onto the floor. I trail behind, keeping an eye on my mate as she and the other human talk. They enter the overgrown chamber and pick through the plants, exclaiming when they find one that they like. There are orange things called “pumpkins” that they grow excited over, and green long things called “zucchini.” There are flowers and vines and a scatter of black plastic pots. In Sasha’s mind, this is a garden center, and I wonder at the people that built this. The gardens I remember were full of fountains and stone walkways and…

I frown to myself, rubbing my neck at the memory. I do not remember more than that. Even that small fragment causes the ravens to flutter close, hovering in wait.

You okay? Sasha’s thoughts burst through my murky ones.

Just a strange thought.

About gardens? I saw the image. She works busily next to Emma, acting as if we are not talking in our minds. It is still a secret from the other human, because she does not wish for her to feel isolated. Maybe it was the place you lived before, Sasha suggests.

No, I did not live there. I recall an image of it, but never entered it. The dark thoughts swell, and I push them away. Is this garden to your liking?

It has potential, Sasha tells me, and her thoughts are cheerful. She picks up one of the green things and shows it to Emma. “Look at this one!”

Emma says something about learning to like the taste, and Sasha giggles. Most of Emma’s words are nonsense to me—I still have not bothered to learn the human language. I pick up her thoughts through my mate’s mind, and that is enough for me.

“There are so many veggies,” Sasha exclaims, her mind brimming with all of the foods they have gathered. “Have you ever canned anything before?” When Emma makes a sound of dissent, Sasha grows sad. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Emma suggests books, the story containers that Sasha loves so much.

My mate lights up at the thought. “A bookstore! Surely there’s one around here somewhere! We could find lots of books on how to prepare food. I bet we could find lots of books about survival, too. Maybe we could pick up some hints from them.”

Emma likes the idea and gestures at the store. A visual of something with wheels—a bicycle?—flashes through Sasha’s head.

“We can do better than that,” my mate tells her and beams at me proudly. “Dakh can fly us.”

I can feel the stark terror coming off of Emma. The stink of it clouds over her normal stench. She does not like the idea.

“It’s safe, I promise. It’s not fun, but Dakh would never drop us. Right, baby?”

I would never drop you, I tell her. Her, well…as long as she is your friend.

Going to ignore that, Sasha tells me with amusement. To her friend, she says, “It’s totally safe. I promise.”

They talk about it for a while longer, and then a short time later, we are at the front of the store. I rip off my pants and change to battle form even as the females secure the bags they have on their backs and talk about where to find the books they want. A library, they decide, or a bookstore. As long as we follow the long, paved path called a “highway,” we should find one.

How is your arm? I ask Sasha as she approaches. Does it ache?

It’s good, she tells me, and flexes it. She only stopped wearing her sling yesterday. It has taken her a long time to heal, and I worry that she is too fragile. I’ll let you know if it hurts, she promises me. I won’t overdo it.

I nuzzle her. Good.

“He’s going to grab you, Emma,” Sasha explains to her friend as I get to my feet and spread my wings. “But don’t be scared. Just hold on tight, all right?”

The human female is pale, but she nods.

I scoop up my Sasha first, holding her gently. I am always careful with my delicate human, though she prefers most times to stay on the ground instead of riding with me. She does not like being in my claws. She must want these books badly to volunteer a flight. I pick the other human female up, and her fear intensifies.

“It’s all right,” Sasha reassures the other. “You’re safe. Now, are you secure? Hold on, because the initial launch is a doozy.”

Emma tells her that she’s ready to go.

Ready when you are, honey, Sasha tells me.

Hold on tightly, my infant, I tease her. Sasha’s laughter is torn away as we launch, and Emma screams aloud. Both humans clutch at my talons, but I have a good grip and would never drop either. I make my ascent as smooth as possible, beating my wings slowly as I take to the air. When I catch an air current, I glide along the highway, tracing its route back toward the broken stone ruin that Sasha calls Old Dallas.

Look for bookstores, Sasha tells me, her thoughts faint and overwhelmed. She sends me pictures of things to look for. I’ll check for them, too, since I know they might be hard to find.

Should we go by scent? I ask her. Your stories have a very specific scent to them. The pages have a dusty, almost musty sort of smell to them, and I know I would recognize it on the air if there were a lot of them.

Oh, that’s a great idea, babe! You’re so smart! Her thoughts are full of pride and affection.

It makes me want to do more for her. I swoop lower to the ground, ignoring Emma’s newest little scream of alarm. I will find you these books, I promise my mate.

I know, babe. That’s why you’re the best.

Careful, or you will make me land so I can fill your cunt with my seed again.

Dakh! I can feel her embarrassment, and her small hand smacks at my scales. Behave!

I want to nuzzle her hair and pull her close so I can smell her, but her little friend is quivering and frightened in my claws, and we are supposed to keep our communication a secret. So I send my Sasha my thoughts and focus on sifting through the stink of the old human hive. There is an overwhelming smell of metal and filth, along with the far more comforting scent of char. I flare my nostrils as I glide over the rubble. At first it is spaced widely apart, with a few of the square human dwellings here and there along the highway. As we grow closer to the human hive, though, they grow more and more clustered together, until they are everywhere, bleeding their scents into the air. Rotten things, ash, metal, dung—all of them mix together, and I have to concentrate to hunt for the one particular scent that my Sasha wants. The dry, dusty scent of her beloved books. I circle wide, find a hint of what I’m looking for, and veer off in a new direction.