The ocean is smaller now that the King of All Wild Things has gone. It circles the island, sending waves up to tease the crabs that sidle across the beaches. In the jungle the Wild Things are angry. They roar at the sun, until it grows tired of all the noise and goes away. The Feathered Things grow sleepy, and climb into their trees. The Furry Things howl, calling up the moon. Somewhere, on the other side of a year, and in and out of weeks, there is a New King. The moon will find him. It always has before.