My eyes lift, snagging on something in the distance. A petite redhead streaking across the sage like a rocket. Annie Oakley reincarnated. She pulls up in front of me, dust climbing incolumns from the hooves of her white and brown American Paint.
“Mags,” I greet, stepping forward and offering a hand when she dismounts. Instead, she reaches up, pulling me into a hug. She holds me too long, too tight, exclaiming, “Figured it was about time I came out to visit. To see these rocks—and the woman—Ash can’t stop talking about.”
She lets me go then, and we walk together among the boulders. I point to an occasional sign, differentiating known native iconography from the anomalous.
She leans forward, eyes squinting in fascination. “I’ve been around these my whole life but never looked this close. What do you think they mean?”
I cross my arms over my chest, weighing my next words carefully. Ash has told her most things, but I’m still reluctant to speak about what feels like something devoid of science or data. Something I still have trouble measuring.
So, I let the stones do the talking, tracing a finger along one edge. “I’m wondering if this is a record of two people’s meeting. Of…” I wet my lips, eyeing her as I say it, “the resonance.”
I’m not sure how she’ll take it. Ash warned me against speaking to others on the council. Or even expecting their acknowledgment or kindness. It’s put a rift between some, though an unspoken one.
But he’s always said to trust her, so I do now. “These lines radiating out between minds seem to suggest that. And then these small specks… look like a swarm.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I can still hear metal clicking against stone.
She leans closer.
“I used to think they were rain. Now, I’m not as convinced.”
“Oh,” she sighs.
“And this line? It’s almost like a shield of some sort. A way of keeping something out while making space for something within.”
“A bond that nothing can break,” she says the last part reverently, even wistfully. Like perhaps she longs for it, too.
Her hand comes up, dabbing at her eyes.
I look away, pretending not to notice, because she’s a proud woman. When I sense she’s ready, I ask, “Is it true that the bond cuts one life short?”
She nods, smiling.
My heart sinks, my eyes blurring.
“Oh, darling, what’s wrong?” she asks, her lavender eyes too clear and sharp for me to fool.
“Why would he sacrifice that for me? How will I ever be enough?”
Her eyes startle at the question, then they crinkle at the edges. “Don’t you get it?” she asks. “That’s a gift, not a curse. Why would you ever wish to live past your mate?”
She says it like everyone should know this.
I can’t help but chuckle, saying too quickly, “That’s not quite how humans measure love.”
The color drains from her face, her forehead scrunching. “Is that too long?”
The question puts the dangerous sting back behind my eyes, even as I laugh again, admitting, “A whole lifetime could never be enough with Ash.” My cheeks burn, my chest tightening.
Not data. Not research. Maybe not even logical.
But true to the marrow of my bones.
“Thank goodness,” she says on a puff of air, hand going to her chest. “You had me worried for a second.”
We continue walking, wind rising in gusts now. Still hot at midday. I eye the Starborn Range, envying the coolshadows burying the mountains, though not the ever-forming thunderheads.
It hits me then. The answer to all of this. The anomalous glyphs. The museum job. Even my dissertation. “What if we don’t send our history away to be interpreted?”
