It was the subtlety of sound at Gol that Spock had found the strangest to process in the first few days. Gradually, since losing his sight, he had moved his appreciation of arts across the sensory field, away from visually oriented fields and more towards auditory ones. He barely read for pleasure any more. Even though he had progressed to reading both Braille and the Vulcan touch language in the most abbreviated form possible, and although his scanner could instantly translate any text, tactile languages were simply too slow and cumbersome compared to his former sight reading speed. Text-to-audio scanners were slow, and could not produce a smooth and correctly intoned reading. Audiobooks were similarly frustrating, with the added annoyance of the reader imbuing the text with their own interpretation of the emotion involved. Unless listening to a play, in which the actors added their own dimension, Spock preferred to make his own judgements as regarded the emotion of the story.

Instead, Spock made use of arts available to his remaining senses. He had increased his library of music to massive proportions, restricting himself neither to genre nor world of origin, and honing his ability to reproduce on the lyre or piano almost anything he heard, bypassing the need for sheet music. He had developed a fuller appreciation of the varying tastes and scents and textures of food and drink, gaining satisfaction from preparing food from a far larger range of ingredients than he had previously concerned himself with. And, perhaps in the greatest contrast to his former life, he had begun to appreciate the rewards of touching those things he had formerly only looked at. Sight was lazy. One glance at an object, and one thought that one knew all there was to be known about it. Touching, it was true, couldn't tell Spock what colour an object was, or if it was patterned or otherwise decorated, but it did reveal weight, material, and any number of tiny imperfections or variations invisible to the careless eye.

At Gol, however, almost all of this had been taken away from him. He was permitted his lyre, and a small number of texts. The monks had not relaxed their strictures in deference to his blindness. He had taken the allowed number of texts but he had not yet turned to them, and had taken his lyre, which had become his sole form of self-amusement. There was little tactile variation in his room, no vast audio-library that he could access, and no opportunity to stimulate the senses of smell and taste beyond the simple fare provided in the refectory. That, perhaps, was for the best, for he found himself appreciating a far more subtle level of interpretation of his surroundings than he was used to in the ever-stimulating environment of the Enterprise. Scents called themselves out of the most unpromising of environments. The scent of hot rock and dust varied from the scent of the same thing when cold. The scent of sulphur drifted occasionally past him from the hot springs on the other side of the retreat, detectable to him when his companions were quite unaware of it. He grew to distinguish silent, reticent adepts by their scent alone.

The word Kaiidth drifted through Spock's mind.

Essentially, Solek was re-teaching Spock the principles of Kaiidth; in its simplest form, what is, is, but in its more complex a combination of discipline and philosophy and mental relaxation that was impossible for most humans to grasp. Spock felt exhausted with struggling against his blindness, and struggling against the emotions that it provoked. Solek was reminding him how to rest, and to accept what he could not control.

He stood at the doorway to the residential complex now with very little frustration in his mind. He had not ventured outside alone in his first days at Gol, although Solek had accompanied him on walks about the exposed rocky flats that Gol was built upon, and he had grown used enough to his presence to follow him largely without touching his arm. This time he was alone, and although he could remember the routes he had taken with Solek, he knew that the terrain of Gol was alternately too treacherous and too featureless to allow him to be confident of walking about far from this doorway without a guide. He should have felt the frustration needling at the back of his mind, and for a moment, he did, but the feeling was very quickly suppressed, thanks to Solek's instruction. By no means was his treatment complete, but it was, at least, helping.

He took another step forward so that he was out of the shelter of the doorway, and the hot mountain wind billowed against his face, bringing with it a scent of dust and varied subtle noises of everyday life at Gol.

Kaiidth.

He repeated that simple word to himself and let its layers of meaning sink through his mind. He could not, or should not, stride unassisted about the terrain of Gol, or stand at the edges of the plateau surveying the dizzying spread of the landscape far below. What then could he do?

He moved to a low stone bench close to the doorway and sat on it, letting the heat from the rock spread up through his thighs and body. He laid his palms on the stone, and felt the same heat inching up his arms. No matter how well warmed his quarters on the Enterprise, the sheer unavoidable heat of Vulcan was something that he always appreciated. He let his hands relax on the stone, closed his eyes, and allowed his other senses full reign.

There. At first the most subtle sounds of Gol were indistinguishable against the rustle of his clothing and the noise of his breath entering and exiting his lungs, but after very little time his ears began to pick up the multitude of softer, varied sounds. Wind, composed of hot, thin air and sand, striking the turrets and pinnacles of rock that spiked the landscape. Far away to his left he caught the sound of bells chiming a new section of the day in the inner caverns. In the building behind him were quiet, soft-soled footsteps, and murmuring voices, and the sound of robes long enough to brush the floor at times. And all around him, somewhere in the periphery of Gol, were creatures of the air and of the ground calling out with thin, high calls, or flapping or scuttling by.

He did not react to the footsteps behind him, coming out of the residential complex, but they were as obvious to him as a clatter of dropped objects against the subtlety of noise on which he was focussing. Both the gait of the owner and the scents and the noise of breathing were very familiar to him now.

'You're doing well, Spock,' said Solek as he reached him, a definite note of approval in his voice. 'I sense a desire in you to move beyond your confines, but very little frustration or anger.'

'It is often difficult to suppress the desire,' Spock admitted.

Solek's hand touched his arm lightly. 'It is the negative emotions that are most destructive. Everyone must harbour some desire in order to progress in the world. Desire itself is no sin. It is simply something that must be controlled. You obviously controlled the desire to explore this difficult terrain alone.'

Spock nodded, but a small sigh escaped his lips.

'Regret,' Solek nodded. 'Regret looks to the past just as much as your frustration taints the future. You are only living in the present moment, Spock. You have no power to affect that which has happened.'

He seated himself next to Spock.

'You are scheduled to leave us soon. What are your intentions following this course of study, Spock?'

Spock exhaled slowly, considering the question.

'A return to my rented accommodation here on Vulcan,' he said finally. 'A return to – my bondmate.'

'You hesitate to call her that,' Solek pointed out.

'She is human,' Spock felt compelled to explain. 'Some would not ascribe that status to a human.'

'Your father ascribes that status to your mother,' Solek reminded him.

Spock nodded. 'Yes,' he said. He thought of the sharpness and gentleness of Christine's mind, of the soft, cool curves of her body, and the constancy of her presence in his mind. 'And I ascribe that status to Christine.'

'Then there is no logic in reticence. The relationship exists. Embrace it. Doubt will only weaken it. You do not need the wisdom of an adept to tell you that.'

Spock nodded again. 'Very true,' he said. 'Then – a return to my bondmate,' he said with more firmness. 'And thence – ' He exhaled slowly, uncertain of how to classify his further intentions.

'You intend to return to your ship, and your post, do you not?' Solek asked curiously.

'I want to, and am obliged to,' Spock said solidly. 'But I have been granted a period of time to research methods of restoring my sight. Some of that time may be spent off-ship.'

'I see,' Solek replied.

Spock turned his head more towards the aged instructor, feeling Solek's slight shift on the bench as he considered Spock's statement.

'You believe it to be a curious order of things,' he intuited. 'An attempt to reconcile myself to blindness, followed by an attempt to restore my sight?'

'Perhaps,' Solek nodded. 'But I've no doubt your reasoning is quite logical.'

Spock's head lowered, his hands clasped together in his lap. 'Frustration and depression and anger are rather more immediate concerns, more immediately treatable, than my blindness. But the restoration of my sight is a logical aim. No matter how fully I reconcile myself to my condition, I can't pretend that sight is not preferable to almost total blindness.'

'No,' Solek said, as he considered the difference between the two states. 'No, I imagine you cannot.' He was silent for a space, then said, 'I came out here to ask you to accompany me to the meditation chambers, Spock. I want you to attempt meditation using a v'ahnak bell as a focus. It should adequately replicate the benefits of a meditation flame. Some claim it is actually superior.'

Spock stood, letting the tip of his cane drop to the ground. The meditation chambers were deep within one of the subterranean cave systems that riddled the mountainsides surrounding the plateau. There was something immensely reassuring about these cool, silent passages and rooms, and the meditation chambers were the deepest of all of them, built like cocoons in the rock.

'I've heard of the v'ahnak bell and its uses. I anticipate the experience,' he said.

'But, Dr Alunan,' Christine was saying, her fingers, well out of range of the camera, tapping in silent frustration on the side of her chair. 'It really would be very useful if we could actually see your research. If we could be on site and examine what you've got so far.'

'Data thieves,' the man muttered suspiciously. He was hardly looking at his own screen, his attention almost entirely focussed on something off to the left of the computer. 'People wanting to steal my research for their own gain…'

'Dr Alunan, your research is based on Mr Spock's research – and Dr McCoy's,' Christine reminded him, keeping her annoyance as firmly in check as she could. 'We'd hardly be trying to steal it. Everything you're working from begins with results from trials on Commander Spock. To actually have Commander Spock in your lab – '

'Well,' the man began distractedly. 'There is that… There is that… You're his assistant, you say?'

She pursed her lips, then capitulated with a nod. 'His assistant, yes. All we're interested in is a cure for this type of blindness – honestly. That's all we want to achieve. Nothing to do with stealing research.'

He was looking more directly at the screen now, his eyes narrowed and his pale greyish skin flushed with a distinct blueness that indicated his growing interest.

'And you say the treatment failed with the Commander?'

She nodded again. 'The prolonged exposure to low levels of disruptor energy proved to be unfeasible for his tissue type. His body's cells began to break down. We were forced to stop, and the cells in his eyes have begun to recolonise.'

'My research remains my own,' he said, showing very little interest in the details of Spock's unfortunate regression.

'Your research remains entirely your own,' Christine nodded. 'Nothing leaves your lab. All we do is see if we can offer any help. Doctor, would you allow us to at least visit your lab?'

Her meek stance seemed to be working. She could see the relaxation beginning to ripple through his body. Finally, he nodded.

'It would – be interesting to study the Commander at first hand,' he said slowly, more to himself than to her. 'Illuminating, perhaps… Yes,' he said finally, with growing firmness. 'Yes, I will allow you to visit. It will be interesting. Call my secretary to arrange this.'

And with a very un-human abruptness he cut the communication, leaving Christine staring half-gratified and half-bewildered at the black screen.