Clearly, above the hubub today, the hounds’ bays, piercing, sustained, drown out all other sounds, as if a dome of fogged silence shuts out all but the fierce barks, yelps, howls and growling.
The hounds’ owner sits, calmly, on a ridge, knowing precisely where the search leads. He has adopted the measured, well-advised course maintaining the disciplined process of discovery, arrest, and conviction.
He pauses for a solemn look into the disarray of the valley, then nudges his charger’s reins back to from where he came, the mountain where eagles live; he’ll consult with a hermit there, who has forsaken all comforts for the headstrong life of refusal.
The horseman will simply sit to a cup of the hermit’s special blend, and as he leaves they’ll exchange nods, nothing more; enough is enough.
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