Fana stopped to scratch his elbow, and let his enormous mass rest against a birch tree. The spring sun was melting the snow from the branches overhead and warming his beard, in between drops of cold water. He still had his flowers in his great dumb fist.

He gasped when he saw them.

It must have been 3 weeks since she had gone missing, and he still had her flowers. He had walked nine hundred miles and climbed every tree, shouting until he was hoarse. He had traded Fana to a band of Kaitaks in exchange for a gourd, and beaten the stuffing out of his best friend in the world. Now he had to decide what to do with the flowers.

Inside his satchel was a hide that he had hidden away for a nap, back when he used to sleep. He spread it out on the muddy snow under the birch tree, arranged the flowers into a pillow, and began to snore. The ants explored his belly and arms. The sun set.

The sun rose.

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