Disclaimer: In this chapter (and for this "book," really) I own but Holt and Moss, or any other Double of a Calvin and Hobbes character. Also I own Borden, who will be important in later books.

Ain't it funny how my latest ficks seem to stray farther and farther away from what an actual Calvin and Hobbes ficcie should be? Hee hee, yes it is…meh. That's what happens when you crank them out. But what I lack in quality I make up for in quantity.

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Wake up, it's time to chase the Dark Man again. Time to help the world.

Shut up.

Let's see, sleep in the whole morning and let suffer this world and the world it connects with, or just bear the pain for an hour and be recognized as a hero.

5 more minutes, please.

Up.

The battle of body and mind was awarded to the gray matter once again. Holt reluctantly opened his eyes to find a fine dew had covered his fire, smothering it. Dew was a rarity in the desert, as was moisture to Holt. He greedily licked all he could before arranging his pack and finishing a brief meal of salted meat.

Holt began his trek today at a mild pace, walking against the sun, following the path of Moss, as he had done everyday for the past two years. Everyday he grew closer, and yet still no Moss was found. Holt began to think that he had not been real after all.

At around No-Shadow time, Holt sought refuge in an abandoned house of the old days, one that had not been inhibited in maybe a year, and yet looked a hundred times older. Inside he left off his heat into the old walls and began to search the old cupboards for food. What he did find was something of a shock: a mummified body, warped from the heat and propped up in its chair, its grave. It gave off a sweet cinnamon smell that drove Holt to the opposite side of the house.

While searching old taps for water, Holt came across a rarity in this new age: a mirror. The glass reflected to Holt an image that for a moment shocked and startled him. His green eyes had gone a pale blue. His fur coat had grown shaggy and coarse, and the once vibrant stripes were now a dull black that almost faded into his old orange.

Holt took a paw to the mirror and shattered it. He took two pieces to his pack: a large one with few sharp edges for reflecting, and a smaller one for cutting.

Holt left the house, still as hungry, still as thirsty, and yet less heated, as he had intentionally planned. No-Shadow time has passed an hour ago, yet the majority of the heat was still to come. Holt sighed and checked his canteen again. Still as empty as when he had entered the house. Although he had tried to resist as long as possible, Holt took a small sip that had turned into a greedy gulp before he knew it. As Holt put back the canteen, he scolded himself for not staying grounded sanity wise, and then moved on.

Near Half-Shadow time in the afternoon, Holt thought he saw something, distant on the horizon, yet definitely a something to investigate. As Holt grew closer, he realized it was a trickle of smoke, maybe two miles away from him. The Dark Man.

Holt took into a run on all fours, running across dunes and large clumps of desert weed. The fire looked fresh, maybe only twenty minutes old. Holt may actually catch Moss this time. He had had too many close catches before to not finally be rewarded.

Over the last rise Holt bounded, and indeed he found the fire, still smothering, a nice fire made of the desert weed that grew abundantly. Holt searched frantically, looking for the cloaked man, and when finding nothing, realized that he had stupidly fallen for the trick Moss had left him. Again, Holt cursed himself for being stupid, and hid behind a dune to watch. After twenty minutes, Holt decided that Moss was not here, and came over the dune.

From the dune, Holt realized the fire (which had seemed elongate) had smothered, and the ashes of the finely placed desert weed had left Holt a message from Moss. Holt howled with pain and frustration, but realized there was no time for that now. He might still be able to follow Moss, maybe even get a scent of him. Holt turned and left the message.

The message: TIGER HOLT. 'FRAID I COULDN'T CHAT. LEAVE ME A MESSAGE AND WE CAN GET TOGETHER SOMETIME! CIAO. LET LONG LIVE BORDEN!