[His heart jumps into his throat as he watches the red expand outward in lurid streaks, under his feet and behind him, putting cobwebs and veins in the walls until there are no walls. And no people, no animated dalmatians, nothing except the red and the rubble.

His wings buzz and vibrate again, more urgently this time. The scene was a reprieve, apparently, and little more; he's still got survival to worry about, and there is still that terrible feeling of being prone, vulnerable and a hell of a target for anything looking for prey in this stark world.

Shelter. He wants it, dearly, but is uncertain whether or not he can find it. He toys with the idea that maybe that girl is somewhere, that maybe she isn't gone like the house is gone, but he can't claim to be seriously holding out hope for that outcome.]