It seemed dangerous to her, a ridiculous idea. The immense structures of stone, steel and other unflinching substances, utterly entrenched in their surroundings - how could the humans not have seen that eventually they would fall and there would be no easy way to replace them, the rubble all but impossible to discard or re-use. They must have had such supreme confidence in their abilities and the eternality of their resources and tools, that they thought they would forever be able to maintain the city to a solid and livable level. It was so no longer. Some held their shape more than others, but there were some that Caspa would not even go near, the cracks and loose, tumbledown components obviously ready to collapse. She thought of the way she had been taught to build, a way inherited from nomads who understood change and adaptability. The beautiful, simple tents were made from soft and transportable materials, easy to alter at a moment's notice, and if abandoned, ready to fade away into nature's landscape, or even take root and become part of it themselves. Caspa didn't understand why anybody would wish to live any other way, desire it enough to spend centuries on building the decadent metropolis. Confined in their own prison of false security, no wonder the humans had easily succumbed to the end of the world.
Caspa could read, and most of the things she read as she patrolled the empty streets lent her only confusion. She felt uncertain about entering most of the buildings, fearful of what might crash down on her head. When she noticed a building missing its roof, she aimed for it, only halting when a tuneful humming reached her ears. Midday sunlight gleamed on Caspa like snow as she stood in indecision, wondering whether to interrupt or steal away while still unnoticed. The music held her though, her aquiline face almost soft as she nodded her head gently. A piece of paper on the ground drew her attention and she scooped it up. Most was unintelligible straight lines with patterns of dots and strokes running along them, but there were words above and below the patterns that she could read. Aloud, she spoke some, forgetting her dilemma for the moment. "We've got to hold on to what we've got, cause it doesn't make a difference if we make it or not..." The wolf-hound's words tailed off; she was struck by the way the words fitted the desolation she saw all around her. The heading at the top of the page read 'Latest Hits! Arranged For Piano and Guitar' but that didn't mean anything to Caspa either.
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