Of all the thoughts which might trickle through his head of love and depth and seeeking, this sense of the missed now folded itself in on him like the shadow of of a large object present only in a sideglance. And suddenly, with the black desperation of something fighting for existence, came the notion of time. With it the idea of change. And with that, the certain knowledge of ending. The knowledge that all things which come to be must come to pass. Not in any small way like the petty fancies of a life and its love and passions, but the realisation that this beautiful depth of sky and stars will one day cease to be. And for a boy, a mere boy, this realisation was so vast and terrible, that he found himself shaking with fear, and a desperate need to do something. A desperate need to know what that something should be.