For a year, Latigo Flint has been seen only in nightmares. Vanished from the face of the world, the tales surrounding his disappearance grow taller with each passing day.
Some say he took to his horse and roams the trails of the big country, his mad-eyed and traumatised sweetheart barista at his side. Others, that his mostly reliable sidekick Kid Relish shot him in the eye over a sushi dish, and dragged his bier into brushfire. Poppies grow in their mingled ashes.
By far the most plausible explanation to these ears, is that he returned to the running grounds of the wolves that raised him, and hunts there still, under the moon, a bloody pelt bone-knitted to his torso.
I miss him, but a part of him remains with us, for his blog archives survive. If you’ve never read them, now is as good a time as any.