Avery Rhiannon's Arc

Chapter 9 of 17

Morning came clear and cold. Avery dragged her care bag outside and spread everything across a picnic table in the yard. Bandages bled pink water. Her jerky pouch sagged, ruined. Even her notebook pages had curled at the edges. She wanted to give Tom something real today, her first true day as his partner. She had nothing dry to offer. She sat on the bench and pressed her palms flat. Then she remembered the small leather pouch in her coat pocket, the one she carried for luck. Inside were river stones she had gathered as a girl, polished smooth, faintly bright in the sun. She emptied them onto the table. Each stone could mark a stall. Each stone could hold a name. Avery walked to the empty stone workshop and pushed the tall doors open. She swept the floor. She dragged in a long table from the barn and set it under the small windows. She placed the stones in a row along the sill. By dusk, the building had a center — a gathering place where every animal could be counted and remembered. Tom found her there at lamp-light. He looked at the stones, then at her, and did not speak. Avery wiped her hands on her jeans. "It's a start," she said. He nodded. The room held them both, and it was no longer empty.