The Winter Court Hollow. A place of labyrinthine halls and secret places.

And Green.

Green rummaging through the hidden alcoves and hidden caches. Only this time he is much more determined: huge body leaning forward, his pace quickened, heavy hands animate and searching, blinking gemstone eyes hunting. See! How he moves swiftly in and out of the alcoves and places open to his Lore. Big fingers digging through tomes and parchment and paperwork.

The heavy thud of bound tomes echoes through the silent halls. The mountain's usually low rumble and grunts now reverberate. Now the mountain is... angry? Irritated? Worried? The line of his jaw and the furrows in his brow imply much but give nothing specific - how can they, given the mountain's usually impassive countenance.

"They gotta be something. Somewhere. Dammit!" And "Its happening again!" And "Oh fuck!" Followed by the sound of old and worn shelves giving way.

News spreads quickly in a small Freehold. Another season. Another Sovereign vanished. And the Season runs ripening toward Autumn.

Storming down a passageway, Green finds a mirror. Its small and bound in cobweb and vine - he'll have to do some maintenance down this way soon, he surmises. But thats not what draw his attention: its his reflection. A face that isn't a face - carved of stone, flat and angular. As time passes and his connection to the Wyrd strengthens it is loosing more and more the last remnants of human softness. This time he doesn't look away.

The furrowed brow fades, stone cracking and grinding.

He holds out a chunky finger to touch his reflection, finding the unyielding bitter surface of frosted glass.

"May as well," he sighs. "I lost it a long time ago and it ain't coming back. The Hold needs it. Shit!"