Vanilla and Must

The scent of vanilla and must was overpowering. Celia rather enjoyed it, but her companion couldn't stand it. He'd never said why the scent bothered him so much, but she knew. He missed home.

The train wheezed its way around a corner. A crate fell from the stack behind Sylvester. He barely caught the box, and was all too eager to put it back where it had come from. "I hate trains." The man slumped back against the crates with the scornful look he seemed to always have.

Celia rolled her eyes at him and managed a smile. She was determined not to be in the same mood as he was. "Don't be such a grump." She turned away to look out a small window. The countryside flew past in a blur. If she didn't let her eyes focus all the way, she could almost miss the destruction that wracked the land.

"Would you stop that already?" He pulled her away from what was essentially a porthole out of the train car. "Someone will see you."

The girl huffily sat down on a crate and a small puff of dust went up around her, though she didn't notice. She was sick of hiding. "Then let them see me."

Sylvester let out a sigh. They'd been through this arguments a thousand times. It always ended the same way, and yet, for some reason, he never reminded her of this. He cared about her, even if he didn't know how to show it. "You know what would happen if they did."

"I know."

The train ride that had felt so long when they had left seemed even longer on the way back – but Sylvester had to know what had happened. He needed to know if anyone had survived. He had to know if he still had a home, or if this splintering train was all he had left.

She laid her head against the side of the train car and looked up towards the window. All she could see from this angle was the sky, but it was the only thing that showed no more than a change of color after the war that had sent them fleeing from what had once been their home. "I think we're almost there." Her voice was resigned, but she tried to hide it. They both knew what was waiting for them when they got there.

The male shook his hair out of his eyes and she could see how eager he was to get there. "Yeah, we are." He'd managed to keep hope that their home had survived, despite the odds against it. "They could still be there, you know."

"I guess." Maybe he was right. Maybe it had survived. It was possible. Not likely, for certain, but possible. The thought filled her more with dread than with hope. It wasn't that she wanted her home and the people in it to be gone. No, she wanted them to be there, but… She didn't want to go back.

She moved her right hand over her stomach and grasped her other arm. She stared towards the window still. Sylvester didn't know. He had no idea.

The train was slowing now. The pair held their breaths, like they had every time the train had slowed the entire ride. The train screeched itself to a halt, reluctant to give up its momentum.

Celia stood quickly, her eyes darting towards the door on the side of the train car. She was so afraid. The last time they were here, they were running for their lives. They'd barely escaped with their lives. Somehow, the fact that the war was over didn't mute that fear.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to the train car was pulled open by the train driver. His calloused hands slipped a few times on the edge of the door, but it opened, and with it, in came a burst of frozen air. It was cold. Colder than it had ever been at home before.

Everything outside was covered in a layer of snow. It wasn't the soft, fluffy, pure white kind, either. It was like a frozen dust settling on the remains of… nothingness. There was almost nothing left. There were piles of rocks here and there, remnants of buildings and homes.

Sylvester stepped off of the train, in utter shock. He walked towards the rubble, his steps light, as cautious as though he was treading on a grave. He bent down in a street, looking at the ashes that covered the ground in an uneven layer. His throat grew tight as his hands touched the ground that had become a gray mixture of ash and snow.

Celia approached him quietly and knelt down beside him. "Ves…" She put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't much, but it was the only thing she could think to do.

"It's all gone. All of it… and everyone. My home." The man couldn't peel his eyes away from the destruction in front of him.

She let out a sigh of regret, and turned his chin so he would face her. "This," she gestured towards the shattered town, "isn't our home anymore." She stood and pulled him to his feet. "It's memories. You can't bring them back." She choked up before she could tell him that they should move on… before she could tell him about that thing, that very important thing, the thing he didn't know.

"Cele?" He took her hands. His were shaking. She was like an anchor to keep him from drifting away. "Where do we go next?"

Her voice was still choked, but she managed to speak. "We make a home." Before he had the time to answer her, she placed one of the shaking hands she held onto her stomach. "One that's safe…"

Sylvester's eyes widened for a half a moment – and in that half moment Celia thought she might just die. But then… then he folded her into his arms, as gently as he had before. "We will. We'll make a home."