A prismatic streak sailed westward towards the bending horizon.
A brief roar of rushing air echoed above the treetops of Sweet Apple Acres and its many, many orchards.
There, close to the fence line that marked off the rural property...
A lone saddlebag lingered in the soil. An envelope rested between blades of grass, its papery exterior stained with drops of dew.
There was a slight flutter to the white object. It shifted slightly in the wind, then remained still, unseen.
Alone.