Stones

A dark brown leather coat trailed behind him as he picked his way over the red rocks of the mountain, glancing furtively behind him every minute or so. His hair was wispy, grey, and shoulder length, and blew madly about is head even in the lightest breeze. At best it could be said that his skin was pock-marked, but there were many who would argue that his face consisted of a mass of craters with a few patches of pale, flaky skin in between. There were more who refused to comment altogether. His hawkish, crooked nose bespoke a youth brawling in taverns, and there was what appeared to be a knife scar just below his left eye.

He turned slightly, his lip curling into a snarl as he sniffed the air behind him once, then again. His old leather boots crunched on the gravelly rock as he stopped, slowly kneeling. His right hand, gloved to the knuckle, swept through the dirt, a handful of which he brought up to his face, his fingers working back and forth, as if trying to get a feel for the earth between them.

He sniffed again.

A parched, dry tongue slid from between his cracking lips, and he drew it slowly, deliberately, across the dirt between his thumb and forefinger, making a sound like nothing more than sandpaper on wood.

He lowered his eyes pensively, and they swung slowly from left to right before he raised them again. He stood, dusting his hands, and pulled back his coat at the waist, revealing a pouch tied to his belt. He loosened the draw, feeling around inside with dusty fingers, and after a moment seemed to find something that suited him.

“Not many left,” he muttered to himself, “must be careful then, until I can make more.”
He pulled his hand from the pouch, his fingers concealing a small object as he drew the strings closed once more. What he brought before his face was a small stone. He licked it once, thoughtfully.

“Still good.”

The stone did no more or less than contrast entirely with everything about him and it might have been more accurate to say it was a gem. It was yellow, but somehow more so. One might have said it glowed, but of course that was impossible. The stone was transparent, and at the very center was what looked like the shape of a lightning bolt. He squeezed the stone contemplatively, and then tossed it unceremoniously down the hill behind him.

“Back to the Earth with yeh,” he said in a tone that spoke of frequent repetition, and he hiked up his dirty trousers, making his way up the hill once more. “Wouldn’t want ta be about when that went off,” he muttered.

The breeze whistled quietly between the red rocks. He thought he could hear the sound of men and horses in the distance.