Travelling Stone (Another short story)
Once; he was part of the Earth.
Laying still and listening to the songs of the birds was not enough for him – he needed a job. And then it happened. Gobbled up and put to work, his brother was just as lucky. The two of them were finally travelling.
They travelled for 50 years. The songs of the Tui were muffled and the rain never reached them. They ground the leaves and fuchsia berries and bumbled along on their journey.
But then the Moa died.
They lay among the bones longing for the hills they once travelled. Until 800 years later, my friend – my soul’s friend (we’ve met before) – picked them up. Gleaming black in the sun like the fierce Stag’s dawn eyes, they shouted out to him. Snapped up, inspected, then into my pocket - they were travelling again.
I kept him with me when I walked. His brother stays hidden, but never forgotten, under the pillow. They both stayed in the dark. Up the hills he knew, down some valleys he had not yet felt. He led me to places I thought I might not go if it weren’t for his call. His soft surface made comfort for my finger tips and unsure nerves, always in my pocket when I needed him.
How will he travel once I am gone?
