Off went Platinum to Sami for her vacation. She'd invited the Doctor too, but just as she didn't hope for a raise to her pitifully low Rhodes Island salary anytime soon, she didn't truly expect the Doctor, buried somewhere under that mountain of paperwork, to tag along with her. Still, she got herself two months of vacation. So that was great. After setting foot on Sami soil, a Columbian graciously led her to her villa. Snow was falling on the plains, and across it quietly traveled a procession of people, the one at the head bearing flowers plucked from who-knows-where. They all silently followed him, walking towards the lakeside. Amongst them, a child slipped and fell to the ground, and Platinum helped them back up, petals falling into her palms as she did. Her mind flicked back to the past, when she was still an independent knight. To fans flocking to give her flowers—beautiful ones, fragrant ones, ones that seemed like they'd last forever. The flower-bearing procession was now some distance away when she had the sudden urge to see who they were giving them to. Looming by the lakeside was a deep white altar, all around which they laid the flowers. 'They're honoring the memory of a deceased hero. The one leading 'em's a descendant. It's a custom of their tribe,' explained Platinum's Columbian hire. They cast the flowers into the lake and began to dance, singing a nameless song whose melody was deep and somber, and they beat a flame alight. Some wept, while others spoke silently mouthed words, pure and reverent light flickering in their eyes. Platinum and the Columbian watched from afar as they shared food around the bonfire, before they drew she herself in. Language failed to connect them, but mood did not, and there she tried a cup of local wine, and was given a red flower by an elderly woman. 'Too noisy...' she thought. Soon after, the child who'd fallen over pulled her by the hand and merrily spun around, running as he did for the bonfire before bringing more food back. She accepted his kindness, and watched the people before her. The tribe raised the hero. The hero fought Ursus all his life, then died on the border. Countless descendants had come in his memory to tell her, a simple stranger, his story. The story of an escaped assassin, of what was hidden inside a meat pie cut open and swallowed by knife and fork, of a soft napkin wiping non-existent bloodstains and crumbs. The lakeside was a distance from the plains, and the Columbian still stood wrapped in a blanket far away, illuminated by the villas' twinkling lights, waiting for Platinum to give the word to lead the way. Platinum stood by the bonfire, simply watching the people, never saying a word.