A/N: So, it wasn't quite a year, and I'm glad for that. I know you've probably all thought I was never going to show up, but here I am with a new chapter. I would like to apologize sincerely for how long it took. I couldn't even believe it myself when I saw it was coming up on a year with nothing. I never meant to drop you, so I started putting it down on paper, so to speak. I hope this was worth the wait. I think it's the longest chapter I've ever written for this story.

Enjoy, and happy Thanksgiving. Well, I hope you had a happy Thanksgiving by now.

Chapter 13: Grief and Visions

Wander set off from where he had left his faithful friend. He had hoped to rouse the horse, but Agro had remained unmoving. He did not know why nor did he give any thought on it, but he hoped that Mono would know what to do for him. At first, he walked as the sun continued to rise, though the clouds above held as a great shield of gray against its warmth. Beneath his unshod feet, the grass was rough and cold from the morning dew, and it chilled Wander. Yet, it felt as warmth when he thought of the chill within his own heart. As he went, he began to realize what his soul had already known. Mono could not awaken the fallen horse. He knew it to be true, but he did not wish to think for long upon it.

"She has to do something," Wander said, as he quickened his pace. He would not allow himself to believe that nothing could be done for the only friend he had ever known. And so he began to run. "She has to do something."

He continued to speak those very same words even as his feet began to hasten again. With every utterance of defiance, Wander ran ever faster and faster. When he, at length, saw the shrine rising up before his eyes, he was all but galloping, just as Agro had done.

His teeth clenched, and his breath was labored as he continued to run. His heart drummed and drummed again, and once more he felt the bitter claws of some unseen thing running across his back, and it seemed to tear his flesh as it always had.

Yet Wander cared not for any of it.

He ran hard, as he had ridden Agro just that night before now. The shrine grew larger and larger, but it seemed so far away. He hoped to find Mono awake and about. Harder and harder, he ran, and closer and closer drew his home, though it did not seem so to his eyes or his mind.

"Hold on, Agro," he said in between his heavy breaths. "Hold on."

Wander allowed himself to slow, but only slightly, when he came to the steps of the shrine. The stone was wet and very cold, and Wander shivered as it met the soles of his feet. He did not care greatly for the discomfort. His one thought was on the horse he had left and on reaching his mother.

In his haste, he did not mind his steps, and he fell forward. His arms struck the steps, as did his middle. Wander cried out, as though he were a child still. He laid there for a time, but it was not lengthy. Not a tear fell from his eye, though the sting lingered in his arms and middle. He did not bleed either, and he knew this, yet it did little to ease the dull ache that slowly took the place of the sharp pains.

Slowly, he rose again, unwilling that he should be delayed any further, and he continued up the steps into the shrine.

"Mother," he called out when he had entered the vast chamber that had housed him. Mono's voice did not answer back, and Wander called for her again. Again, she did not answer. As the dawn relented to the day, Wander's eyes were drawn to the emptiness of the room before him.

Mono did not lie where she had always rested. Indeed, his eyes did not see her. Wander's gaze darted this way and that, but he did not see his mother. At once, he began to fear for her and for Agro.

"Where are you?" he wondered aloud. Had she gone out to hunt for the day? Had she gone out to seek him? Did she, like his faithful friend, now lie somewhere motionless, as she had in his dreams so long ago? Wander did not know, but he found each thought too fearful to consider.

At length, he heard the sounds of soft steps coming from behind. He turned to see Mono nearing him, and she came from the way that he had come, up the steps. When the eyes of mother and son met, Mono hurried up the steps.

"Wander," she asked in a sharp voice that caused Wander to wince. "Where have you been?" By now, she stood before him. Her face wrinkled in a look of displeasure at her son. Bits of mud and blades of wet grass clung to her feet, as though she too had ventured outside the shrine in the early hours of the morning. "I asked you a question," she added with the same tone.

Wander meekly bowed his head, and his hands clasped behind his back. Once more, he could not look his mother in the face, and so he closed his eyes. At once, he had forgotten the matter the caused him to seek out Mono. All he could think of was the face he could recall quite well. It was the same look of relief, of motherly pain, and of anger. By now, he was certain that one foot rose and fell in time as she awaited his answer. Never had he known the soft footfalls of his mother to sound like thunder in his ears until now.

When he did not answer nor look upon her, he felt her slender fingers beneath his chin, bidding him to look up. He opened his eyes, for he knew he must.

"You will answer me when I ask you," said Mono. Had Wander known or she recalled her life before now, they might have found this strange, for Mono had once been raised to defer to men such as he, even to their own sons. However, he knew this not, and Mono had long forgotten it. Again, she questioned him. "Where have you been?"

At first, Wander again said nothing. He shivered in the chill of that autumn morn, but even it seemed warmer than the chill of his own shame. His shoulders slackened, and his chest fell in a defeated sigh.

"I went riding, mother," he replied softly. "I took Agro, and I rode him."

Mono withdrew her hand, and it felt as the cut of a sharpened stone to Wander. She took one step back, and then another. Again, her feet sounded as the loud booms of the raging storm to his ears. Her face seemed to change as well, as an utter disbelief washed over her.

"Were you hunting?" she asked. He could muster enough strength to shake his head, for Wander felt weakened before her, as he recalled the promise he had made and the promise he had broken. Just then, he recalled the horse lying still and unmoving upon the ground.

"Agro fell asleep, mother, and he won't wake up," Wander said quickly. At his words, Mono stiffened, and he heard her take a quick gasp of the chilled air.

"What did you say?" she replied just as quickly. When he had said the words again, Mono's hand clutched her heart. The angry fire within her eyes turned to cold ashes, and she turned her back towards the man she called her son.

The air grew heavy around Wander, and he thought he might be crushed as it tightened around him. Mono did not move. He could only stare at her, thinking and pondering what she might say. He hoped she might say something, no matter if she spoke good or ill. He did not dare to say even a word, not even the name he had called her. The silence grew heavier, and Wander, likewise, clutched his own chest. It seemed hard to take even a breath.

At last, Mono spoke. "Take me to him, Wander," she bade. "Take me to Agro."

The sun had dried the grass by now, yet the browned blades still felt rough to the soles of Wander's feet and Mono's as well. Yet, despite their discomfort, they hurried across the land. Wander's hand gripped his mother's in an unyielding hold as he followed the path that he had previously taken. Had he thought of it, he would have found that he enjoyed the feeling of her hand, rough as it was, against the flesh of his palm and her fingers wrapped around his own. Yet, these thoughts came not to his mind, for he thought only of Agro.

The trail was hardly disturbed, and despite his haste, Wander's keen eyes, the eyes of the hunter he was, did not find the prints of hooves difficult to see. Neither the man nor his mother uttered a word as they went along the westward paths, though the air was filled with the sounds of each heavy breath. Yet, they did not slow.

The hills arose on both sides and closed in around them, so it seemed, and Wander knew he was nearing the place where Agro had fallen. Though Mono had said nothing, Wander was certain that she was greatly displeased with him for what he had done.

He expected that she would force him to stay in the shrine as she had once done. He did not think on this for long, for again he thought only of the companion that he had left. As they continued on, Wander could not help but think that Mono could do nothing, as if some part of his mind and his heart had known this since he had awakened that morning.

Yet, he would not abide that thought.

When the trail opened into a vast expanse before their eyes, Wander sighed a grateful sigh. Mono would surely arouse the sleeping horse.

"This way, Mother," he said, with great urgency, "this way." He seemed to run all the harder and faster, caring not if Mono still held his hand or even if she had fallen behind. When he saw the fallen horse, only then did he stop.

Mono walked slowly towards the unmoving Agro. Wander grew quiet and still, as the stones and great doorways of this long forgotten ground, a ground that had long ago served as a place of endings. Mono knelt before the great horse, though it seemed to her son that her legs could no longer bear her, and she fell to her knees. Her long veil of black hair seemed to shake, as her shoulders did, and Wander thought he could hear the soft sounds of weeping.

He did not know why, but he felt as though he should not approach her. However, he did. He drew knew to Mono, and knelt at her side, watching with no understanding. Her hands covered her face, and her weeping became a mournful wail. Her body shook beneath her gown, and for the briefest of moments, Wander felt again the same strange stirrings that he had known for so long. He quickly cast those thoughts aside, for now was not the time for them.

He knew not what he should say. He did not know the words to speak any comfort, though he had often heard such words from his mother. He recalled what she had done in times when he, too, wept, though he knew not why she wept. His hand reached out and laid itself upon her back, and he tried to quiet her. But as his hand met the worn cloth and the flesh beneath it, Mono raised her head. She quickly turned to him. Her eyes were growing red, as well as her cheeks. She took a quick breath, and Wander withdrew as if he had been struck.

"Do you know what you've done, Wander?" she asked, sounding very harsh, though she did not intend for such a voice.

Stricken mute by her voice, Wander could only shake his head. He continued to shake with little thought, until Mono turned her gaze back upon the horse. For a time, there was again silence, except for the sad gasps of his mother.

"Can you help him, Mother?" Wander asked, at length. He walked slowly towards his mother until he stood at her side, and then he spoke again. "Can you wake Agro?"

"Agro is dead," she replied through her sobbing.

The word seemed to echo through Wander's thought like a great tremor against stone, and he stiffened with every beat of it. He had known death, for he had brought it upon many a creature. Fish, fowl, and beast, he had killed, and he knew what it meant to kill. Yet, now, it seemed so strange a thought that Agro had died here and without a single arrow or a blow from a small rock. It did not occur to Wander that death could be brought without any such tool, but here the horse laid, unmoving and never to move again.

Mono only continued to weep at the loss. Wander bowed his head, and clasped his hands before him in a mournful pose. And when Mono smote her breasts, Wander felt compelled to beat himself in the same way, though not even a tear fell from his eyes. To him, the grief seemed too strange, even though he could feel it as his mother did. When her tears and wailing ceased, they stood in a cold silence, as cold and as quiet as any should be upon the dwelling of the dead.

At length, Mono laid her hand upon Wander's shoulder and bade him to turn.

"Come, Wander," she said softly, though she did not look upon him. "We should go."

As she said the words, the truth of what had now happened fell upon Wander, as the loose stones fall from the mountains and even within the shrine. Agro was dead. He did not know how or why, but he knew now that he was dead. At her touch, Wander took a sharp breath. He looked up to his mother, but her gaze was drawn to the path they had walked.

"We can't leave him here, mother," Wander cried, hoping there would be some final thing to be done for his friend. "We just can't."

"There is nothing we can do for him, my son," Mono replied. Had the young man the power to read her thoughts, he might have recoiled in disgust, for Mono had, for a time, thought to eat the horse, if only to keep themselves alive as well. However, she had thought differently of it. "We can only say farewell," she added, now looking him in the face. "Now, come. We still must prepare for winter."

With a heavy sigh, Wander turned to follow his mother, but he often looked back at the place where Agro had fallen. He would look back until the body of the horse was nothing but a small spot of black against the brown tint of the land, and then it was no more. Slow and somber were their steps as they returned to the shrine that had housed them. Mono, in her heart, had wished to bury her old friend, but they could not dig a suitable grave for him. She did not speak of her thoughts to her son, for she knew not the words to say.

For what remained of the morning and the day and the evening, Wander and Mono continued the tasks they had performed for many years. They set themselves to the gathering of the wood and the finding of meat, though Wander no longer held the desire to hunt. Still, for his mother's sake, he did so, and he brought back a few fowl, no doubt heading for better lands as they always did.

Neither he nor she spoke a word to each other all that day. Even when they took their meals, they did not utter a word or even a sound. It seemed to Wander that she held him in account for the loss of Agro, and he knew it to be true and even right. Yet, he did wish for her to say even a word of scolding, for the silence seemed altogether worse. And he, only out of his guilt, did not know any word he could speak to her.

And so the silence endured between them.

When evening gave way to the night, and Mono and Wander laid themselves down upon the floor of the shrine, Wander lingered in waking. He found he could not bring himself to close his eyes, for when he did, he could still see the great horse lying dead upon the ground and growing smaller as he had done when they left him.

Again, when he was alone in his thoughts, the truth of what had happened fell upon him. When Wander thought once more of the loss, now, only now, did his tears like the falling of a harsh rain, fall from his eyes. He did not wail or cry out, for he did not wish to wake his mother, but the tears continued to fall as he thought of Agro.

Agro was gone. Never again would the horse and rider race across the land in wild merriment. Never again would he wait for his friend to come to him. Never again would he stand to listen to the words Wander could speak only to him. Agro was truly gone, and where he had gone, Wander knew he would not return, for that was the way of it.

Just then, as Wander pondered the matter, an image appeared before his eyes, like those he had seen in the days of his childhood.

A man walked slowly through the hall of the shrine. At either side, eight figures each stood in a silent watch over him, unable to move against him or tell him to go back. In his arms, he carried a bundle, bound in a great cloth of brown. He climbed the stairs and placed it upon the altar. When he had withdrawn the cloth, he looked down upon the face of a woman, fair and young. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed not to move for she was dead. The man then turned away and walked back down the steps.

Just then, a voice thundered throughout the chamber. It was a voice that sounded as though two were speaking.

"Souls that are once lost cannot be reclaimed...is that not the law of mortals?" it asked. The voice caused the man to shiver, but only slightly. A few more words were heard, some spoken by the man and others by the unseen presence that dwelt here, but none that could be easily determined.

"But heed this, the price you pay may be heavy indeed," the voice said at length.

The man did not seem to regard the warning. He only narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "It doesn't matter," he said.

Then the vision faded, leaving Wander again in the midst of the night. He shuddered as he continued to lie there. He knew the shrine he had seen, for it was the shrine he had lived in all these years. He knew the woman, for it was his mother, and he had not dreamed of her lying dead for many years. The man, however, he did not know, and yet he seemed familiar.

Wander knew not why, but he did not think of it for long before sleep, at last, overtook him.

The day was cold when Wander awoke. While the air did not chill him, the blowing winds of autumn blew relentlessly across the land. Even in the shrine, the winds still found him. Yet, on the winds, the scent of smoke also reached his nose. His eyes were drawn to Mono, sitting before her fire, preparing the morning meal. Wander rose and went to her, for he felt the empty space in the depths of his belly.

When he came to her, Wander stopped, as though he had met a great wall that had risen between them. Her face had fallen, and her eyes, though kept in careful watch over the flames, seemed downcast. She, herself, seemed lifeless, though she did live. The sight caused Wander to sigh with an equal sorrow, for he knew she still grieved for Agro.

With hardened hands, Mono turned and poked at the meat, for she had long ago learned to bear the heat. When she was certain that she had cooked it well, she beckoned to Wander.

"Sit down, my son," she said, at length, though her voice no longer carried any joyful sound. Indeed, she spoke as though she were the very stones of their dwelling, hard and cold. When Wander did as he was bidden, she handed him a piece of charred meat that he knew to be from some small creature. Yet, he, though he was hungry, could not eat. Instead, he merely turned the food over in his hand. Though his belly called for it, he would not oblige it. His eyes hardly took notice of Mono looking upon him from her own meal.

"You must eat, Wander," she bade him. "You have to keep up your strength." He again looked upon piece of meat, and he merely let it fall from his hand, for it did not interest him. In its place, another matter pressed upon him, and one he could not let pass. He knew the question he must ask, and he knew he must do it quickly.

"Mother," Wander began, though he could not think of the words to say.

"Yes," she answered back, frowning as she did, for she saw the discarded meal cast aside without care.

The man paused as he pondered the words he wished to say, though he did not know if it would be wise to speak, for wisdom meant little to a man such as he. "Why did Agro die?" he asked, finding his voice at length.

Mono's shoulders fell, and her head bowed as a breath left her mouth, like the short breath of one who did not wish to answer. At once, Wander wished he had not spoken to her. He turned his gaze from her, and looked towards the land, as though he still thought Agro might come to him if he should call him.

"Do you not understand, Wander?" When he shook his head, Mono spoke again. "You killed him. I don't know how hard or how fast you rode him, but it was enough. I've known men who rode horses, and they rode them until they died. I never thought you would be one of them."

Wander drew back at her words, for they seemed harsh, and indeed, they were. His face took on a look of horror as he considered her words. He had killed Agro. He had killed his only friend in this world. His breathing quickened. When he heard the words again and again, tears again fell from his eyes. Though he had not done so the previous night, Wander wailed. His legs no longer held him, and he fell to his knees as the grief robbed him of his strength. His hands became fists, and his nails drew blood, even from his palms, hardened from years of labors. He closed his eyes, and once more, he saw Agro lying in the grass where he had fallen.

When he could see the horse no longer, Wander remained in the darkness. The passing of the morning seemed as many days to him. As he continued to wail, he felt warmth in him, and it seemed strange in the chill and barrenness he had entered. Wander opened his eyes to find Mono holding him in a loving embrace. She tried to quiet him, and though he continued to weep, his wailing had ceased.

"I didn't mean to," he cried. "I didn't mean to, Mother."

"I know, Wander. I know you didn't."

When she pushed away from him, only to look upon him, Wander seemed unsure. Her face now looked as if he had done no wrong. She smiled at him, though it was a rather feeble smile, and her eyes still appeared sad and dull.

"I'm sorry," Wander said through his sobbing. "I'm sorry for Agro."

Mono ran her hand through his hair, and her palm came to rest against his cheek. "It would have happened sooner or later, Wander," she answered, softly and with a gentle tone. "Agro would have died, perhaps not now, but he would have. Understand this, my son. It is the way of the world. All things will die. Even you, one day, will day. Do you understand?"

"Why is it the way of the world?" Wander asked, still weeping but now his tears did not fall freely.

"I don't know why," she replied. "It was the way the gods saw fit. It is natural to die, and it's also natural to grieve."

For a time, there was a peaceful silence, with only Wander's tears and quieted sobbing. It sounded, in some way, as the soft rains that fell upon the land in the early days of the year. Mono pulled Wander near to her, and she smiled again, though she had little cause.

"Mother, will you die too?" the man asked, as the thought came to him. To him, she seemed as though she would endure for all the ages of the world.

Mono did not answer. Though she spoke naught of it to her son, Mono considered once again in her heart that she was truly a contradiction of all that was natural. Would she die? She did not know, but she knew she must give some word in reply.

"Yes," she said at length, and not at all with any certainty. "Even I will die one day. But do not think only of that, my son. Think of what came before it. I'm sure Agro died happy, like the great horse he once was."

The stillness again lingered as Mono gently swayed, as though she had hoped to ease Wander as she had done when he was but a child. Wander did not know why, but he did not wish for his mother to leave him. He could not tell, but her arms seemed familiar to him, in a way that was not the way he had always known. When she, at last, did withdraw from him, Wander missed the warmth of her embrace.

Mono stood and retrieved the piece of meat he had thrown away. She brushed it against her gown, and when she had stoked her small fire, she warmed it before handing it to her son.

"Now, you must eat, my dear Wander. Do not let yourself be overcome. You must keep going, no matter what lot you are handed. I'll still need you. So, please eat this. Then, we have to continue preparing for winter."

Wander did as she had asked.

Four days had passed since the death of Agro, and they had passed quietly. While Wander and Mono continued each and every labor that they had done for many years before, they had hardly spoken to each other. The idle words they had often shared did not seem to hold any importance, though the grief was still fresh in their hearts and in their thoughts. Yes, when both considered what had happened those three days, it seemed that no words could be said.

On some occasion, Wander would see Mono stating alone, believing that she could stand unseen by his eyes. In moments such as those, he could see her shoulders trembling in gentle sobs. Once or twice when the sorrow seemed heaviest upon her, she would even drop to her knees and weep for the friend she had lost.

While he too felt the loss of his dear hunting companion and he held himself at fault, Wander allowed no tear to fall from his eyes, except in the lonely hours of the night. He knew not why, but he wished that Mono not see him weep, and he managed to hide it from her. More than that, his thoughts were often drawn back to the strange vision he had seen those three nights ago. He had seen nothing since then. He had not even seen the visions of any dream. His sleep was as black as the night about him, though Wander thought this strange as well.

Day after day, the silence between them continued, even as the autumn began to give way to winter. It had not yet snowed in the lands, though the chill in the air grew all the more bitter with each passing day. At times, it seemed to grow colder when Wander was near to his mother. At times, he could hardly bring himself to look upon her, for he held himself still at fault, and Mono could not say the words to bring him comfort.

When ten nights had come, Wander again laid in a dreamless sleep upon the stone floor of the shrine. He had not spoken to Mono all that day, and she had kept silent as well. As they had always done, they had labored, they had eaten, and then they laid themselves down to sleep. All the while, Wander thought of Agro, and he was certain she had done likewise.

Just when he thought that this night would be as empty as the others would, the sight of yet another vision appeared before him.

It was a man, a man with pale skin, as though he were not a living being. Two horns, tiny yet distinct, grew from his head, along with hair that was now darkened. He rode a horse of black across a long bridge that had not felt the falls of feet for ages beyond count. It seemed to go on and on, as if it were a bridge that spanned even time. Far below, a river could be seen, though it seemed as thin as a single hair. As the man and the horse crossed the great bridge, it seemed to shudder and break. The rider urged the horse onward and onward as the simple thought to survive overtook him. A great piece of the bridge fell away before the oncoming hooves, as if they defied the rider to escape the fate that had now been given to him. With a kick to its sides, the horse leapt forward, though it stumbled upon its landing. Without thought for itself, the horse threw its great form forward, and the rider was thrown from his seat. Landing hard, but unharmed upon the ground, he looked back only to see the bridge and the horse fall.

When Wander awoke, he did so with a sense of fear and wonderment. He could think of little else but that.

"What does it mean?" he whispered. "Why is this happening to me again?"

Hearing no answer from the shrine, he laid himself back down to sleep, though he was certain he could not.

The next morning was mild, which came as a pleasing surprise to Wander and winds ceased to blow hard and cold upon the land, though the grass still pricked them, and the stones of the shrine kept their chill. The air itself was not warm, but the winds had been far worse. After the morning meal, Mono did not bid her son to labor with her. In fact, she hardly seemed to wish to move from where she sat upon the floor. This did not escape Wander's notice, and he was puzzled by it.

"Will we work today, Mother?" he asked.

With a sigh, neither of sadness nor of frustration, she looked upon him. "We have done well this year," she replied. "The shrine is kept warm or as warm as it can be, and we have piled the wood. I think we have earned a day to rest."

"But what will we do?" said Wander.

Mono paused in contemplation at the question. She had rarely thought of what she might do when she had labored to live. Though he could not see it, she thought of the long walks she had taken in the early days of spring, when the grass was soft and cool and the sun was warm and time itself did not seem to pass. She smiled when she recalled those days.

"Let us go for a walk," she answered.

"Where should we go?"

"Let us just go where the wind takes us, Wander. We can find our way home."

They walked together, side-by-side, across the open spaces though Mono often looked behind her to see the shrine even as it shrank into the distance. Aside from that, their feet took them where they wished. Neither gave a single thought to the weighty matters of food or fire, for they had done well as Mono had said.

Wander's eyes drew him to the sights of stone as they walked. They, at times, followed the path of the sun as it, too, walked though in its dutiful pace towards the west. At other times, they walked against it. Though Wander had seen these small shrines, for that is what they resembled, during his hunts, he had not given them a single thought. Yet, at this moment, he began to recall a strange familiarity, but he knew not what it could mean.

"Let's stop for a moment," Mono said when it was about the middle of the day. They stopped and sat upon the grass. A tree grew nearby, and Mono sent Wander to fetch some of its fruit, which had fallen from the branches. While they had eaten earlier, their hunger had, by now, returned. And so they rested, eating of the fruit in the same silence that had marked the past days.

While it was not as pleasing as fresh fruit, it did ease the protests of Wander's empty belly, but it did little to ease the same emptiness within his heart. His eyes drew themselves to the ground.

"I know you still think of Agro," Mono said at length. Her words caused him to look upon her. "I know you miss him. I know you still blame yourself."

"How do you know all of this?" Wander asked. He could not deny the truth of her words, even though the strange dreams lingered still within his thoughts, even in the place of the memory of his old friend. Still, she had guessed rightly that he still held firmly to his guilt.

"Can a mother not notice when her son is troubled?" she answered. "I've seen you, Wander, even when you think I don't."

Wander only let out a sad breath through his nose, and he again looked away from her.

"My son, I'm sorry," Mono uttered softly, though loud enough for him to hear. "I'm sorry if I have caused you to blame yourself for Agro."

"But I killed him," he answered, crossing his arms across his chest, and turning his head away. "I killed him," he said again.

"I know, but you can't hold it against yourself. Agro was a good friend, and the only one I've had in these lands before you were older. I had warned you against riding him so hard, and you didn't listen. But," she added quickly when his eyes darted from the ground to her, "it is over. We can do nothing for Agro, but remember him."

Wander gave no words in reply. He could only nod slowly and solemnly, and again he took his eyes away from his mother. For a time, he sat in solitude, despite her presence, for his thoughts seemed as a great distance to him. It was if she stood on one side of that spanning chasm that he had seen in his dream, and he stood on the other. He could only gaze upon the distance that seemed to separate him from her, a distance that could not be crossed.

He was so lost in these thoughts that he did not hear the sounds of the grass giving way nor did he see Mono draw near to him. When her hand fell upon his shoulder, the distance lessened in the blink of an eye. He turned his head, and there she sat, looking back into his eyes as he looked into hers. For another brief moment, he again wondered if she might permit him to place his lips against hers, though he did not know why he should wish to or what such an act would mean. It did not endure, for the thoughts of Agro seemed stronger than even the longings he had held.

"Don't live your life in the shadows, Wander," Mono said gently. "Don't live your life thinking only of what happened. I know you miss Agro, and I miss him too. I grieve for him. But one day, you have to learn to accept it. Do you understand?"

And when he nodded, a tear fell from his eye, and Mono moved to embrace him. They sat there for what seemed hours, though they did not care to mark the time. As Wander held her and she him, he could not help but find it right, as though it was what was meant to be.

Then, they began the long walk towards the shrine with the sun at their backs, for it was late in the day, though not yet twilight.

As the shrine rose up before them even as the sun continued to fall bring the twilight upon the world, they hurried to reach their home before nightfall. When they had reached the stairs to the shrine, Wander, by chance, looked towards the south, towards a great rise of brown stone off in the distance. He had seen it many times before as he had gone out into the land, but on this day, it seemed different. At once, another image appeared before him.

With a sword in hand, a man galloped upon his black horse. His hand held the blade into the light of the sun, and it seemed to guide him. When he came to the base of the rise, he stopped and dismounted. Tucking the sword into its sheath, he gave the horse a loving stroke upon its nose, and then he set himself to the climb. It was steep, and at times, only his fingertips seemed to keep him from a certain plunge. Slowly but certainly, he climbed the rise, until he found himself on solid ground. He heard a loud and low sound and then another. They came in quick succession, like the footfalls of some giant thing, the likes of which no man had ever seen. The man drew his blade and turned. Before his eyes, it stood...

"Wander," came a woman's voice. Wander shook his head and found himself standing upon the steps of the shrine. He did not know how long he had stood there, but the sun had nearly set. He looked away from the mountain in the distance, and even in the fading light, he could see Mono standing but a few steps above him. "Wander," she said again, "come now."

"Oh," he answered, as if he were still in the midst of his vision. Shaking his head again, he followed Mono's lead, and yet he could not help but look back upon the mountain, as though it beckoned to him.

When he laid himself down to sleep that night, Wander considered again the visions he had seen. He wished to make sense of them. When he pondered this image that he had seen only moments ago, a thought came to him. It was a thought he would have never once done anything but dismiss, but on this night, it seemed that it was the only thing for him to do.

"I will find the answer to this," he whispered, "even if I have to travel to the ends of this land to do it."

And when he slept, he resolved only to himself to see this thing done.

A/N: Like I said, I hope it was worth the wait. Looks like the wheels are in motion, doesn't it? I originally intended on making it a bit longer, with one more seen at the end, but then after I wrote that last part, it just seemed to give it some finality, so I decided to stop there. But it looks like Wander isn't content to just sit and ponder anymore.

Hopefully, it doesn't take as long to get the next chapter done. I really hope not.

BTW: For my own curiosity, how do you pronounce Mono's name? Do you say it with a short 'o' like in 'oxen' or with a long 'o' like in the name Moe, you know, Moe-no? I've always wondered that, ever since I read about Shadow on Wikipedia. I say it with the long 'o' myself, but I just wondered about the rest of you.