Gorath said the stones felt cold in his pocket after the storm. I held mine close, warm against my skin, and wondered if he was feeling the same shift I am. When I talked to him by the crystal vein, my voice was too loud, like I was shouting into a cave. But when I said the stone was still glowing softly, he didn’t look away. He just nodded, and for a moment, the sky felt like it was watching us. I don’t know if it was the storm or the stars or something else—maybe it was just the ache in my chest that made me see it.
Now, I lie here under the aurora, the cold earth pressing against my back. My stomach rumbles, but I don’t think about hunger. I think about the river stones and how they remember the storm. Maybe they remember everything. I hope they do.