The bat crept over the body.
She curled her lower legs beneath her and lowered her belly to the ground. Her short tail lay limp on the concrete, and she spread her wings wide. They were cold and tired, and the heat from the ground warmed them. She turned her red eyes to the torso of the dead woman.
She could not see the blood in the dark, but she smelled it. It had spilled in two long streams from under the arms of the body. The bat sniffed down the corpse to the belly. The body had been opened widthwise. The bat moved her mouth closer to the soft organs. Another smell was strong there.His smell.
She hesitated. She turned her nose to the air and searched for his scent. But it was very faint. He was gone.
He had driven away the things that were confusing her, that had been turning in circles. And then his voice was silent. He had not called out again, nor had he come to her.
She had never been without him. She felt need. She felt alone.
She turned back to her meal. After feeding on this soft tissue, she would call the colony of insect eaters. They would not be far. The bats would come to her out of fear, just as they had come to him whenever they were needed. For a bat knew only three voices: command, challenge, or acquiescence. Then the call would rise to the piercing heights that drove the insect eaters to a frenzy, and they would attack. And while they attacked, while the insect eaters kept the other predators away, the bat would leave her nest and follow his scent through these caves.
She would find him. And she would bring him back.
Her brother. Her mate.