The shore was peaceful as if no one had ever walked those grounds before. Seeing the lakeside deserted left Finn all alone with his ruinous thoughts, and whatever he did to deflect them, he could not shake the cold creeps on his skin, reminding him that there had been a serious threat to Kepler and that Asgard was nearby when they should have settled somewhere else long ago. What spooked Finn most was that Earth was desirable, while he had been taught it was not extant. It made him question how much of what he knew was founded on truth, and how many facts had really been lies.

It was noon by the time Finn reached the steep slope on the other side of the cliff. He walked up to Arrakis' cramped ship, which had steered Finn and Lena from Boreas to Kepler. His hopes of finding Lena within the vehicle were wrecked when he found nothing but bugs inside.

His fist thwacked the cushion of the seat and, disgruntled, his foot kicked the door and slammed it to slide down on it. He wanted to feel pain, physical pain, to distract him from his heartache. The back of his head banged the metal, and every muscle in his face fought to forbear the tears between his eyelids.

"Damn it!" he spat and bashed his already bruised elbow against the door.

He ripped out the grass next to his legs and threw it against the wind, and when his head fell to his shoulder in frustration and exhaustion, he finally spotted it lying alongside him; Robby's photograph. Picking it up was enough to determine its poor condition. The writing on the back was washed away, the paper wavy, and its ink on the front smudged and ran-out, making the image clear as mud. Without a single thought wasted, Finn tore the picture in two pieces and threw it, like the grass, into the air.

He observed the crisp image of the mountain chain in the distance and feared that Lena could have gone any direction, to places Finn had never been before. He pulled himself up and began walking the border of the forest. With each step, he feared it leading him further away from Lena. He worried that she was gone too far and that he might have lost her forever.

"As soon as I saw Nitha I should have turned around," he rebuked himself. "I should have gone straight back to Lena. Great job, fool." A jab of guilt chewed on his conscience, and Finn fed it with a passion for torment. "I should have made my feelings clear! I should have told her that I am over Nitha. Son of a breach!"

Finn stomped through the woodland, shouting at every root his feet tripped over and slapping each branch that struck his head. For hours he walked without a pause and even dared to go to the tail of Blake's street.

"She wouldn't have gone to the city, or would she? No, she knows the risks. Or is that perhaps a reason to go?"

Finn cogitated and erased the scribbled lines his mind had drawn to link his thoughts together. He made a sharp turn and walked back on the gravel road until it mingled into the soft soiled ground.

At shade and in coverage he stood once more, looking around thoroughly for blues, knowing that Lena's shirt was of that color. But nothing except trees were to perceive, and thus he dragged his legs through the forest, and while he was stumbling along, his glum eyes kept escaping the reality, even just for one second, to find comfort in the bracelet he was holding in his hand. The colors of its braids made Finn long for Lena's unique eyes. Whether it was raining or storming, when Lena smiled, her eyes gleamed, and Finn's world was sunny. And every minute that he was separated from her, his world just wasn't sunny anymore. Despite the soft light falling through the treetops as he was heading west with the sun, Finn's world was gloomy and cold, and the sky appeared darker than night itself.

He missed the warmth in his chest whenever Lena's eyes met his. He missed her wholly, and especially the light she brought into his life. Without her, Finn was blindly staggering through the darkness, realizing more than he could bear, how much he truly needed her and the irreplaceable smile she liked to give away. Finn could not even enjoy the mollifying wafts of lavender drifting through the air, or the lazing lack of noise on that sultry summer afternoon. He had one desire only, and no beauty, not even that of nature, could appeal to him for as long as Lena was missing. How many times he would ask himself if Lena might be thinking the same about him.

As the sun began to finish its journey in the sky, Finn felt having walked the forest a hundred times in vain, he had even walked past his personal comfort zone and explored new areas. Nothing but trees, shrubs, and streams. Many roots to fall over, many branches to get caught in. Many obstacles were kicking his patience which already cowered on the floor. His face was blanched, his mind a desert, and his heart an unruly sea of uncried tears.

He came across a field of wildflowers. A beautiful assembly of reds and blues, purples and yellows. Finn wanted to stomp all over them, crush and squash every last one. He let his body drop to his knees and ripped the closest flower out. Next, he targeted a little dilectio. It was a native flower of Kepler, unlike the others, which all originated from Earth.

"Earth," Finn growled with a rusty voice. More anger flooded his veins and boiled his aching heart. When his grip choked the pedicel, Lena's voice echoed through the vacancy of his mind, cooling him of the fury that was cooking him.

"If you rip it out, it'll die," he heard her say.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing has meaning anymore," he said to himself, or perhaps to the voice of his memories. The echo whispered indistinctly and faded away, blending into the soughing of a snaking wind in the canopies up high.

Finn's hands supported his body as he knelt on the cozy sward. His head hung lifelessly between his shaking arms. Had his ego allowed it, he would have flopped down right there, sealed his eyes, and hoped to ever dream about a better place, where he could see Lena's smile to the day he would die. But how could he rest, when she had still not been found? He could not run away from his pain. He wanted to be with Lena, always, and if it demanded torture, so be it.

As Finn remembered telling Lena that ninety-nine bullets could attain the pain he'd suffer by letting her go and that her own suffering was equivalent to the one fatal shot hitting his heart, he also recalled telling her about that single, last, fatal shot. At that balmy sunset, Finn was walking back to the cabin after he had capitulated to the pessimism inside, and in the desert of his mind, he found the certitude that he survived ninety-nine bullets, now waiting for the sound of the final shot. If it could bring him back to her loving arms, Finn was willing to stand in the crossfire, and he would be determined to make Lena the richest and luckiest person alive. Because only then, when she was safe and happy, could he bear the pain boring his body.

The treetops were gilded by the dying sunlight, and the sky was drowning in an overflow of colors. Yet, to Finn, it was all black and white. He reached the exit of the cooling forest and stepped onto the northwind switchgrass living vicariously around the cabin. He felt some relief when he saw that Nitha had really left. He would not know how to last another quarrel.

The shadow of the cabin was stretching longer and, when the sun vanished in a swift fashion, fell into twilight's silhouette. Finn had not noticed the spectacle of the empyrean, for his eyes aimed downward at his lugging feet. There they would have remained if the faint sound of a half-smothered sob had not pulled them up. On the roof, next to the decaying chimney, sat Lena, hugging her legs. She had not noticed Finn yet, as she was facing the cliffside. Of all the thoughts buried and hidden in the depths of his bleak mind, Finn seemed to have caught only one word and uttered it at once.

"Lena!"

    She became extremely quiet after that and though she turned toward him, she said nothing.