Sunset was almost over when the first of the planes flew overhead. A chill had set into the air and a number of the abnormally large number of guests that had set the staff of the small cafe scrambling throughout the day had gone inside, but they came rushing back into the flagstoned courtyard at the sound of the engines. Three V-formations of large bombers passed overhead, their support fighters flanking around them like remoras pacing a shark. Many of the watchers whispered excitedly to each other, pointing towards the skies. Others shouted angrily and one cheered wildly until he was silenced by others of his group. But most simply watched silently. A few wept. I had been here often enough that I no longer looked at the planes. Instead, I watched the crowd of tourists. What drew them here, I wondered, to this place. To this event. I had first come here many years ago, for me anyway, because it seemed to be an out of the way place. While many came to visit Paris, or Normandy, or Berlin or even Auschwitz, very few came to Le Fleur de la Mer, this small cafe on the northern coast of Belgium. Most were now engrossed in watching the next wave pass overhead, though a few others watched the crowd as I did. We glanced at each other, nodded slightly in recognition, then returned to our observations of the others. The staff has been struggling to handle the unexpected number of

I woke up in a cleared field. Somehow I wasn’t surprised. The three of them were there, watching as I sat up from the bed in which I found myself. The three of them sat around a banquet table which was loaded with food and drink. There was a fourth chair at the table, waiting. I walked over and sat down; there really was no reason not to. We all knew why I was there. “A fascinating device.” Blue spoke first, holding up a dunderschlag. “Immediately obvious as to its use and obviously useful.” He pointed it at me and I briefly flinched but he seemed more impressed with it than threatening. “We don’t care about that!” snapped Green. She took the device from Blue and pointed it at me herself. This time I didn’t flinch. I suspected half her anger was due to the fact that she couldn’t use it and knew it. None of them. That would certainly anger her. “What we want to know is how you acquired it.” I shrugged. “I made it.” “We are aware of that.” said Red. “As we are of everything. But we are not aware of this.” It pointed at the dunderschlag which Green still held in a firm grip. “It has no source. No template. So where did you get it.” I shrugged again, dismissively. “Not everything has a template. You know that. We make new templates all the time.” “Yes you do.” Blue spoke again. He seemed almost genuinely

It was the Day of Leaving and we were celebrating with the Feast of Departure. Everything we were taking with us had been packed or loaded into the wagons and carts, but there was even more that we would be leaving behind. We had therefore prepared as much of the food as we could and all of us feasted on the stored provisions of many seasons. The children, many of them already in their travel clothes, laughed and ran and played around the tables while we adults ate our fill and reminisced over the seasons we had spent here. Some, newly come to adulthood since our last travels, were nervous about what we would face as we left our home and made our way across unknown lands and those of us who had made the journeys many times before reassured them that our group was strong and would encounter no dangers in the world beyond. Our leader had looked to the sky and the wind and decided the path we would take when we left this place forever but we did not know how far we would have to travel or what we would find along the way. If we encountered a group like ours while out in the world we would be sure not to be taking their path, though sometimes members of our group would decided that they liked the others’ path better and leave to join them just as some of them would come to join us.