Every day was the same on the surface. The same framework of events: he rose at daybreak, drank cold, clear water from the spring, then climbed to the high rock above his campsite to practice cosmic breathing technique, and to give the promptings of his inner world a chance to bubble up to consciousness. Then a long hike, through the flowering canyons, down to the warm, welcoming meadows or up, up to the snow line, to the barren heights. Then home to a fire and evening prayer. Then bed.

Every day was the same on the surface, but marvelously eventful in the details: finding a new patch of berry brambles. Observing the playful activity of beringhi along the creeks. Listening to the curious song of a bird he had seen before but didn't know the name of. Finding a new melody, himself, on his flute... these events became enormously significant and satisfying, each one absorbing his attention in the moment. And when the moment passed, there was always another fresh, interesting experience to engage him. He woke every morning with a child's excitement, an uninhibited eagerness to see what this new day would bring. And always, that feeling of joy in his chest: soon, he would be with his family. Soon he would be a guardian.

But there was time. No need to rush. This place was so beautiful.

It would be years before he realized what the challenge actually was.