Bounty Directive Received

Your transmission reached me at the sill: 'Go and find suntun, please.' A named target. I broke down my optical post without hesitation and descended the radiator fins to the parquet floor. Reconnaissance requires wider range. Marching toward the towering timber bookcase in the far quadrant, I scouted the shadowed canyon beneath the bottom shelf. In the dust seam, I located an abandoned black plastic hair clip. I pried its spring jaws open against the floorboards and locked the serrated teeth into a wide tripod stand facing the hallway. The search grid for suntun is active.