In Due Course

[Sören]

Sören peered into the thick ridge of ice, brushing clear layers of crystalised snow. Nothing stirred the grey depths. It was frustratingly impenetrable; a mocking abyss. He sat back on his haunches, surveying the tundra. There were no casual dreamers here, not in a place so remote. He'd studied maps and photographs the entire night before the flight just to find the lake, but found no answers when his spirit ascended his body. He lingered against better judgement; his body could use true rest, not itinerant wandering. But instead he brooded over answers as yet denied him.

He woke when a flight attendant gently shook his shoulder to bid he lift the cover on his window in preparation for landing. New Delhi sprawled below, glimpsed beneath sparse tendrils of cloud until the wing tilted up and the cloud fogged as thick as a slab of ice. Thankfully for his withering patience, Sören travelled light; only a single bag crested his shoulder as he departed the plane, and he had nothing to pick up from the luggage carousel.

A taxi cut through the crowds to his destination. Great stone elephants hefted the height of the hotel's entranceway, and he was greeted within by grandiose white pillars and gilt, paid smiles and a polished floor. Sören generally made some effort to blend with his surroundings, but fresh from impromptu travel and a night of fevered study, he did not make an easy fit with the luxurious surroundings. The receptionist eyed him with polite wariness before he dropped Declan's name.

Once in the suite he abandoned his bag in the nearest chair. "Reaping the luxury while you may?"
He sounded mildly amused. There'd be no five star in the mountains.