Things have gone quiet, eerily so. No crickets, no bullfrogs, no owls - nothing. [i]You don't realize what a role they play in making the night until they're missing from it.[/i]

Rintor sits on a small, rocky promontory. Above is a blanket of stars in constellations that he does not know. In the near distance is a flickering bonfire with a group of people gathered around it. The sounds of soft music and of their conversation drift up towards him, but he is not much concerned with that. There are good people here, and others who care only for themselves, who will poison this bold experiment more surely than hemlock. Of that he is certain. Of the fact that he will not leave this world, he is equally certain.

Rintor begins walking. The threads are harder to find by night, but it is so much easier to massage them into the shapes that he needs. The travelers and all of their tumult fade away with the passing of each step. Rintor Otorik grabs a hold of the light and disappears.