Cloudbound Companions

Ink curls spiral like quiet storms, each line pressed firm into parchment, holding the scent of something ancient. See how the folds of their robes ripple, even though no wind can be traced? A pig cradles a rake as if it were a relic, not a tool, and the horse steps forward without ever touching soil. The rider’s beads loop downward, smoother than river stones—do they hum when counted, or only in memory? Above, another figure leaps, as though the sky itself were layered, stair upon stair. All three seem to orbit the question midair: *Where Vojta?* Has this query been whispered across these clouds before, circling in patient loops like prayers unsent? Their textures suggest repetition: claw lines on the rake matching swirls in the vapor, hems that echo the same slow rhythm. We look and look, hoping Vojta might surface in the next stroke or the next page, yet the parchment keeps silent, its maze unbroken.