Word Search Puzzles to Keep You Sharp Book

When Wally returned, we knew he was not as before. His clothes were the same, that memorable striped livery, but in his eyes, in his smile, lay the ravages of time.

Was it the fame which had changed him? Perhaps. He had become a star of the screen, an international totem, a universal Rorschach test - representing hopefulness, frustration, the eternal quest... what you will.

We welcomed Wally in with that delicate mix of awe and disdain with which old friends greet newfound celebrity. We found in him a figure changed, but not by fame and fortune. His dry wit and natural compassion were unaffected, his world-weary eyes still sparkled when he saw dancing girls or clowns or the other novelties which seemed to flourish in his presence. Instead, it was clear he was yet another victim of that old common arbitrator: Time.

When one has seen the world, they say, one finds the path home. For Wally, though, that path had always seemed opaque. He had made a life in the margins. He was the human lacuna, the man in the mist, the faithful companion never quite within reach. And now, after so many years, he felt no more sure of where his journey would end. Worst of all, it was our fault. His attempts to form a détente with Odlaw forever dashed because of the public's demand for a recognisable villain. Their desire to remove the influence of that old straight white man, Wizard Whitebeard, rejected due to a misguided sense of tradition. And that eternal beating of the drum, calling Wally, Wenda and their friends to disappear into the crowd once again.

To disappear but never to be forgotten: that, ultimately, was what had changed our friend so powerfully. The knowledge that no party, no panorama, no amount of pandemonium could allow him true anonymity. They would always be there - searching for him, calling his name, demanding to discover him. To millions, he was merely an object, a riddle. When would he ever just be Wally?

I pray only that one day the streets will empty, the world go silent, and that peace descends just long enough for him to wander, unspotted, unnoticed, through this vale of tears.