Carmo remains perched at the base of the Psyche Tree. He sits still, reclined against the soft bark, brushing his fingertips over a bed of glow daisies. His shaded gaze follows the storm riders as they chase one another through the clouds.

As they gallop across the changing sky, they guide the Dawn Star to its port and pull the Red Moon behind them. Carmo waits each day for this brooding atmosphere — the eclipse of change.

Caught between two times, awake and in a dream, he draws along the howling threshold.