In the dark. In the tunnel alone. The stone beneath my hands and cheek
told me that. I rose fumbling for my com. It was not there. I would not
search for the burned relic of the pad. Doubtless, I thought with some
bitterness, it was no more than a whisp of ashes. I began to make my way
back. If a rider could not do that without instruments then she was not
Always holding, I added, that the situation had not changed, or the milieu.
Which they usually had.