Yesteryear Fiction

Smooth Stones, We Are
By Beal Manna


She takes the smooth river stone in her hand, rolls brilliant blue across weathered palm. "there is magic here" she says, and as her fingers curl back to reveal the stone, we see the fire inside, the tears and breath of forgotten dragons, spirits from ages so long past that their fragments only lurk in the deepest barrows of the blood, the collective soul.


- - -
I believe that all things are sacred.