Faithful Pebble
Part Sixty-Seven
"It started with a glimmer, they say, a slight spark in the darkness radiating a light that was cold and harsh, brief and sharp like silver amongst the blackest of coal." Pebble repeated softly, "Again, this is what they say."
"Who?" the wanderer asked.
Pebble shrugged. Pebble journeyed on. "The villagers, the elders, those elder even to them. This was a fairy tale at one time, a legend and nothing more, but we are wiser now. Now, we have experience on our side. Now, we know that it is true." She stopped at a tree and looked up towards its canopy. Only barely did the sun radiate through its leaves swaying and dancing, trailing them as they wandered.
Like the boy, the wanderer thought. The wanderer listened. The wanderer pondered if the boy was also listening, if he agreed or disagreed with the girl traveling alone in the dark. The wanderer stepped after the girl following her deeper down a path he didn't know. It was winding and narrow, over grown with thousands upon thousands of shimmering blades dipped and decked with purple and ivory.
"The silver, the glimmer, that light in the dark was then found by two stout hands. Their fingers were plump and short and dirty like the sleeve clothing their arms or the cheek cradling wide fatigue filled eyes, eyes nestled over a greying stomach length beard braided haphazardly and full. They say that the moment the creature, one of seven, touched that tempting gleam of light the fates of everyone in the valley had changed. Our fates were seared, twisted and morphed, all enslaved to that one thing, that diamond clutched in that little dwarf's hand. This is what they say, what they whisper deep in the dark before the tree."
Out of practice. Here we go – Calla.