Oh, the traces are there. The traces are everywhere. Everyone I ask has seen you. You are not easily forgotten.
She went north, says the Prince of the Shining Lands, wrapped in glory, and the ground broke under her feet. Look! There are the springs of bright water, where she stepped!
She went south, says the Master of Winds, burning like a torch, and the volupts cringed and hid their eyes. Look at them now, crawling for comfort to their aged wives!
She went west, says the Gatekeeper, and thunder and lightning fled from her. See how the trees that were dry and withered bear blossom and fruit!
She went east, says the Stag, and I could not keep up with her. We all fell behind at the sunrise, because we were afraid of the sun. But not she. We watched till our eyes were dazzled. We don't think we will see her again.
So I sit at the empty table, and idly draw pictures in the puddles of wine. "I knew her once," I say.
The bartender, who doesn't believe me, smiles agreeably. "Yeah, I heard that," he says. "You want another?"