He exited the arch, his eyes gazing down at the arrow. When before it had pointed presumably north, the arrow was now pointing south, back to civilization. John couldn't hear any noise of the city from here, yet it nonetheless pained him in his bones. He wanted to go back to the natural sanctuary, but logic won over. Where would he find food? Shelter? Water? Birds might be able to feast on worms, but the prospect of eating worms haunted him. Besides, someone would wonder where he'd gone—well, at least the machines would.
Tears brimmed in John's eyes as he took the parchment in his other hand. He couldn't tell anyone of the nature sanctuary. No one would believe him, as in a funny kind of way, they were programmed not to. Like the machines they were told to operate. He could only hope someone other than himself would bear the secret. He wasn't sure where the paper came from or how it worked, but it needed to be sent away again.
John stepped some feet away from the arch and held the paper, prepared to release it. He closed his eyes. He couldn't help but notice there was a similar breeze to the one earlier that had whisked the paper onto his shoulder. And with that thought, he threw the paper into the air with a firm thrust.
And the paper flew up, above, and away... away...