He wandered into camp one day, that great explorer, long after we thought him lost to history. Long after he disappeared into the blizzard that blew up out of prevailing arctic winds while we were out on an expedition. Just that morning I’d given him my metal ring to keep safe while I worked to dig out our tents from last night’s snows, and then when the wind picked back up and became a storm, and he disappeared, we thought it, and he was gone. And now, a week later, he wanders in with longer hair, with a disheveled beard, but with determined and ever-hopeful eyes. He knew he’d make his way back to us, and though the ring may be brushed with the cold-blowing arctic ice, he had brought it back to me.