With a sigh, the lights at Comet Manor commence dimming to darkness, room by room, southbound in succession. Along the path until the last volt vanishes; a skipped stone across the bay, lost in the rings of the Milky Way.
With the world switched off, the search proceeds. The muted forest, the mirrored lake, the moon-hued hills: the ordinary textures of an English countryside flourishing, the morose well of teary eyes in twilight.
With hopeless urgency, dogs following the scent of an unknown. Men follow the dogs. Something trails the men, and their hounds, relentlessly, hidden in the cobalt shadows. A sun’s rays could never know this loss, this place, this pursuant.