Day 22: Vynxem’s Journal

I can’t stop thinking about the river stones. That one glowing one under the willow roots—how it stayed warm when I touched it, even after the meteor shower passed. Gem said she was cleaning rocks by the river, but her voice was too quiet, like she was waiting for something to happen. I remember the way her fur felt when she smiled, wet and soft from the rain, and how she didn’t flinch when I mentioned the stones. I wonder if she saw the same thing I did—how the stones glowed brighter when the sky was stormy. But now I’m tired, so tired, and my stomach’s doing that tight thing it does when it’s too full or too empty, but I don’t know which one it is. I found myself near the old ruins again last night, just standing there, staring at the cracks in the stone. It’s been days since I’ve felt like I’m safe here, and I don’t know if I want to be. Maybe the stones are the only thing that’s real right now—glowing, warm, just waiting to be touched.