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Rachel dreams - spoilers for the end of the Animorphs series

Her pace is steady, if only because anything that isn't steady calls her attention and gives her something to be angry at, and even Rachel finds it difficult to get mad at her own feet. Plodding along with her little bag slung over one shoulder, chewing numbly on some of the bread from yesterday's dinner, hardly looking around her. It's just another road in another state probably with another town that needs a thug tossed out of it or something. Doesn't need her, just needs anybody.

What's the point?

Grumbling to herself, a very tired, very cranky blonde continues on.

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"Two unusual hawks." He flickers images. Both appear to be the same hawk, but one of them is missing an eye. "I'd hazard variations on the person you are looking for. But both of them have since moved on."

A flicker isn't enough. Rachel is bordering on desperate panic now, clinging to the CD while her eyes scan the images. "No- no, wait, bring that back! Are they red-tails?"

"Yes."

Oh god.

Oh god.

The Ellimist lied. It lied - it said he would mourn her, but he wouldn't, she'd find him, it would be fine, she'd find him.

But why bring him here? He didn't die, she knows he didn't, she would have felt it, she would know.

But then why-- why--

"Where? You said they moved on, you... where?"

He vanishes from her mirror for a good minute. When he comes back, it's with a sad look to his face. "No where reflective."

Her knuckles are turning white, gripping the CD so tightly, eyes hard.

"What direction? Are they still in the city? The state?"

His eyes flash silver for a moment. "They go to a land of ice and snow, far to the north."

Rachel stares and shakes her head sharply, long blonde hair flying, eyes shut tight as she tries to think. "No, he-- they-- look, redtails aren't built for cold weather! They would never go north, the hawk wouldn't be able to survive!"

He frowns, those silver eyes flashing blue. "Damn it! Reply hazy, try again later..."

And Mort fades away.

"Wh-- hey! HEY! Hey, get back here, you god damn Magic Eight AOL Ball, god damn it, come back! Come back, come back, COME BACK!"

And minutes later, leaning heavily against the tree, the CD dropped from her fingers to lie in the grass, a hand pressed against her eyes, chanting quietly in her head.

Come back, come back, come back.

Words drift across the face of the CD.

"Trouble on the move. Keep to your path. He's out there."

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