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One morning many years later, Dalwa woke up and clearly remembered the way Balden smiled in her dream last night. It seemed as if she was on her way back from Yunden Rinpoche's place to give up drinking, or as if Balden was going on a long pilgrimage, and she was seeing her off with joy. When she got up, Darva found that the pillow she had been sleeping on for fifty years was frayed. The once thick white cloth was now worn down to a thin layer of gauze, and the hay inside had long been reduced to fine grass clippings. She originally had to change the straw core every few years, but in order to retain the familiar smell, she had never changed it in the past fifty years. Darva put the pillow on her knees, just like she did more than fifty years ago, but today she no longer searched for anything. She closed her eyes and stroked it carefully with her thick knuckles, and tears quietly swam between the wrinkles.