Full moon washing over desert outcrops as he makes his way down a droughted arroyo. No rain has been seen here for several years. Sparse tufts of struggling vegetation form a dark counterpoint to the pale sand, marking out a way ahead. He pulls back his hood and rubs what remains of his grey stubble, narrowing his eyes as he looks ahead. A flat outcrop in the distance, catching the pale light. A figure standing there looking over the distant valley below.

It has been a long time wandering in the high places. A long time without meeting a soul. He crouches down, releasing his pack and his katana. Sits cross-legged.  Reflecting, conjuring, imagining ...  seeing with his eyes closed.

Yes, he finally decides, it is the time, the place ... his soul knows it and she awaits him. Many times he has travelled through her eyes, felt her light joy, shared her dark despair. Now a time for new beginnings, for collaboration,  a new quest.

He watches Nemain climb the sky in her full glory. Feels that full moon invigoration. The cold desert breeze running down the arroyo bringing the nightime scent of the grasslands above. He knows that when he meets her, that shadowy figure waiting below, they will be one, they will be 'I'. Words will be unecessary ... there are few enough to be said.

He stands, harnesses his pack and sword. Time to move forward ... time for his story.