He traced the numbers with his fingertips feverishly, eyes flickering wildly back and forth amongst the dark ink symbols. He tapped them rhythmically, fingers flying between the numbers like a gazelle on the run.
She watched him curiously as the pads of his fingers made a pattern of the ink - 4, 9, 3, 7, 2, 1, and then cycle.
The numbers were etched like the silhouette of trees against a sunset, dark and meaningful.
"It's a message," she realized aloud, astonished.