Without the herd he felt utterly alone, he realized. He could hear the grass beneath him but it wasn’t like speaking with the others. There was no conversation or comradery, only information. Winter was coming, the grass said. Soon we’ll sleep.

Hesperios sighed, wishing that he could join the grass in its slumber. At least death would end the aching loneliness. Why had he survived when so many had died? Why did he alone of the whole herd still live?

The day was a beautiful one. The sun was shining and the birds were singing but Hesperios wished for winter – for an end of things. The cold of winter would only kill him. The warmth of late summer tore his soul to pieces as long as he spent the unending days alone.