So they went on and some nights the Earth Mother cried in her sleep. And one night Markel dreamed again of the golden bird trapped in the flame. Reaching out, Markel tried to help the golden bird but the flames were too strong, and he awoke. Sleepily, he looked around. The Earth Mother was gone.
They had camped on a low hill above a farm. Markel lit his pipe, pulled on his shoes, and searched near the camp. Not finding her, he walked down through the fields to the farmhouse. She was in the kitchen of the dusty, dried house, sitting at the table. Markel leaned against the door-jamb, aware that he was very much relieved. After all, she was essential to his dream, and although he didn't like to admit it to himself, he had become rather used to her.
He said, "Well, what's all this about?"
She got up and walked to the window. "There used to be cows in fields like that, cows with bells around their necks, and people walking there. Now there's no cows, and no people. Now there's nothing." Her silhouette against the window, he saw, was less thick than it had been; she actually had lost weight. She said, "Will we ever find a place where there's people? Are there really any people anywhere on Earth except us?"
"Certainly," he said lightly. "Lots of people, all watching television."
"Where?"
"Oh, Patagonia, Central Africa, the South Seas."
She said, "No. Nobody anywhere. No cows and no people."
After searching the farmhouse for books, and finding none, Markel took her back through the blowing fields to the convertible.