Argent watched solemnly from the doorway as "Rex" hopped around and got into line behind Red and started a conversation with her. He whistled for Bannock and headed up the hill to his Land Rover, figuring the dog would want some food and water, and not feeling especially hungry himself. As he approached the camp site, he felt a chill down his neck as though a Newfoundland fog had suddenly nestled under his hairline, and a faint whistling in the distance, a low, distinct soughing sound, too clean and regular to be wind, caught his ear.

He turned and looked around. Beyond the rocks on thehillside, out over the lake, a silver blur was rising out of the noon-day glare, shimmering and whistling in a quiet, shrill tone. He blinked, and stared. For an instant he thought he'd seen a canoe flying throguh the air, but the image vanished in the blur of silver, a blob of spatial glitter and distortion that quickly ascended high above the treelines and with a blink of silver light, took on the form of a grayish-white cumulus cloud, except that it seemed to keep a subtle cirrostratus hazy glow around it.

As he watched the cloud settled and hung, not moving. The dozen other clouds, wooly cumulii, were strolling slowly across the azure sky following a light low-altitude breeze. This one just hung there.

Argent scratched his head, and put some food out for Bannock. He checked the cloud every few minutes, but it hadn't moved.

He rummaged around in the back of the Land Rover and pulled out an old Pentax, a telescopic lens and abox of light filtering lenses.

He stood there, leaning against the bonnet of the old truck, for over an hour, focusing, switching lenses, and clicking the shutter. Bannock, fat with lunch, curled up in the shade under the truck and snoozed patiently, with one ear cocked, in case he was needed.