The sun was just rising in a glory of pinks, golds, and reds, as Mjolnir completed his rounds and leaped lightly to the railing of the porch. He contemplated the passing of time, and how, especially at his age, months could slip by nearly unnoticed. The last vestiges of Autumn now surrounded him, though it seemed only yesterday that he had had the first warnings of danger in the high summer.

Not that he wasn't as alert as ever, nor slipshod in any of his duties. But where in youth each day seemed endless and eternal, now sometimes they slipped by as if leaves floating by on a stream, silent, skimming the surface without being aware of the depths of the water.