It was supposed to be a happy day, that Glorious Twelfth, and yet we could not find it in our hearts to even try and look happy. For the portrait, at least. But how could we? Each of us knew Bagby was missing from our renowned Royal Hunting Flush and worst of all, it was permanent. Every single one of our haunting thoughts was painted on our faces: no more trophies, no more running, no more being on top of our five-piece game and no more Bagby. Not in the flesh, anyway. What was left of him was this hat; Trent could not be separated from it. He carried it around for days as if Bagby was somehow attached to it. He wasn’t. If anything, it gave us a sense of his absence.