The boy's words have been on Mateo's mind recently. His face too. Their entire interaction, really, shines in his memory, a gleaming moment made all the more bright for the dark times that would follow. Since meeting Pan, Mateo had unfortunately been very busy with adult things. The murders in the forest had set the court into a wild flurry of activity, and it had become difficult to find time for oneself. It was even more difficult to enjoy that rare free time, at least for Mateo, with the guilt of knowing that Casper and Moore would never again have that simple pleasure.
Mateo had hardly thought of his young friend until the seasons changed and the cold arrived with its usual indifference. Huddled round the fire one night, the scent of smoke and kindred horseflesh just as much a comfort as the heat, he thought suddenly "I wonder how Pan is doing--" and the boy was suddenly on his mind, on and off, for days to come.
He walks along the river now, a spare blanket folded neatly over his back. It is slightly worn and simply woven, but soft and very warm. Ahead is what seems to be a small network of caves, although he is not sure if this is the "cave by the river" his friend was referring to. "Pan?" he calls out softly as he steps gracefully over a tumble of rocks to what seems like the entry to a large cave system. The air is damp and cold and it seems, to him, a rather miserable place to live.
"@Pan, are you there?"
