The slight figure sat cross-legged on the small bed and smoothed his fingers almost reverently over the worn leather cover of the large book that sat in his lap.
He opened it carefully and stared at the sepia toned picture of the tribesman, eyes following from the feather headdress down to the bare feet. He hesitated before touching the fragile picture and then frowned as he noticed his bitten fingernails. That would have to go down on his list too.
Putting the book carefully to one side, he picked up the much smaller book from his pillow. Opening it up, he picked up the old-fashioned fountain pen and clicked the top open.
At the top of the page, he wrote in a very careful hand.
January 1st 1982 - Find a Sentinel
No matter how long it took.
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