It is a cycle for hunting. We comb through the rock and soil in search of clues. And for me another hunt, as well. I hunt the dark places, the quiet places, places of solace. I hunt the high places, the wild places, the desolate places. I hunt forgotten beaches and realms beyond our own. I even search the crowds, my eyes hopping from face to face in my relentless quest for her. Did she sink into her dreaming? Did her feet wander her away? Did the Bronze consume her? I catch glimpses of her tracks sometimes, although they could be wishful thinking. She remains as illusive as ever.

A new colored cloak wraps my shoulders now. Blue trimmed and heavy in responsibility. So very much to do.