At this altitude the air is very thin. The stars seem very close, shivering in their houses of glass, and I trace their familiar patterns (though my shadow whispers that I knew other patterns, once upon a time). I am above the clouds, above the wind, and from this particular vantage point there is not a light to be seen; all is darkness and snow, velvety gradations of silver in endless wrinkled procession, fading into the distance.
I have so far to travel, and yet I linger a moment more, luxuriating in this utter solitude. Their voices are with me still, remonstrations that cling to me like gnawing parasites. Another year gone and no progress has been made. They couch their impatience in jokes and teasing questions, as though they can even begin to understand the frustrations of my life. Find the one, bring the one, tell us, teach us, show us, it is time…their words beat at my mind with the incessant wings of moths. They have no idea. They disgust me, I love them, they infuriate me, I need them, I never want to see them again, I miss them with every fiber of my being.
I am so alone.
I shake off this uneasy feeling, shades of blue and gray falling away from me to be lost in the night. It is time to begin. My feet leave prints that no one will ever see as I begin down the slope, moving west. I'll take the long away around, and pass through New York to have a first look at the new arrivals. Hopefully their fear and anticipation will be refreshing rather than wearying. Who knows, maybe this time my search will bear fruit.
Sorcerer, soldier, sacrifice.
I will find you yet.