Into Air

Moisture drips from the blades of pale mountain grass as the fresh morning air hangs, frigid and still, in the gaps between the ghostly white sycamores of the Silence Woods. The Sun has not yet begun its ascent from the horizon. Its light teasingly illuminates a portion of the clear sky. There is an eerie darkness cast over the landscape, despite the approaching light of dawn lightening up the majority of the woods. It lurks heavily around the areas which remain obscured from the icy twilight.

A young ferret man, short and pudgy, weaves his way through the clustered sycamore trees. His personal path through the wood is mentally drawn mere inches ahead of him, feeding off of his instinct and determination. His eyes are tired and dark; rings have formed.

Shivering, he pulls his puffy jacket tighter around himself. On the back, large yellow letters spell out 'FBI'. His cream leg fur is drenched and freezing from his trudging through the woods. Crisp air is inhaled deeply as he practically gasps and wheezes, exhausted, determined to continue towards his destination.

The woods' namesake remains true, the ferret being the only audible sound formiles around. Not a single early bird is out to catch the worm. The ferret is completely alone, which does not discourage him from checking his peripherals for signs of life every few seconds.

The thick clusters of sycamores give way to a peculiar clearing which straddles a cliff, the highest point of the woods. It was not apparent to the ferret that he was ascending, and yet the cliff would definitely cause most to lose against acceleration due to gravity. Two large, ghost white sycamore trees form an arch exactly in the center of the clearing, a mere step away from the edge of the cliff. He steps underneath the archway, trembling slightly, his eyes fixed on the lightening horizon.

A blur of movement startles the ferret briefly; the silhouette of an owl in flight appears against the twilight before moving rapidly down into the woods below. A look of great sadness and despair crosses the ferret's face, his eyes tearing up as the blinding light of the sunrise finally peaks above the horizon.

No one stands beneath the sycamores.