Best wishes for the season to all, and especially to the brilliant souls of CMDA.

25. Eye of the Beholder

.o0o.

Thomp.

Zevran lowered the blade he was tending and regarded the lump of rock at his feet.

"Gratified as I am by your attention, sadly I am otherwise occupied at present," he told Blossom.

The dog merely sat and scratched thoroughly under his shoulder.

"Ah? Bien. Just as well. A rock that so closely approaches the size of my head would be inconvenient for casual tossing. Not to mention-" Leaning forward, Zevran prodded it dubiously. "The customary overabundance of lubrication." He eyed the glutinous string trailing from his fingertip with fastidious disapproval, and then brightened.

"Perhaps tonight you will confine your attentions to this and spare my leathers your salivary predation?"

Awooworrauuaiee-pwffch!

"I will take that as a 'no.'"

Whff.

"Brasca."

.o0o.

"Oh, no, no, no! Do not drop that filthy thing onto my—"

Thumprnkl.

"—books." Wynne sighed.

.o0o.

"Oh, who's a good dog?"

Thomp.

"You are. Yes, you are."

Awoo.

"And so talkative. What a clever boy you are. Yes, who has a nice rock? You do, yes you do. Do you want a nice bikkie? So much nicer to eat than rocks – or shoes. Yes, it is."

.o0o.

Alistair heaved a put-upon sigh as Blossom approached, juggling a rock temptingly, to sit before him.

"Always with the rocks."

Crch-slcrch-crch.

"I mean, seriously, it's a rock."

Crch-crch.

"Why can't you play like a normal dog? Get a stick. Or a ball. Or a bone. A rock is ju—"

Thunk!

"Aargh! My foot!"

.o0o.

Thomp.

"Heh, that's right." Oghren picked up the chunk of rock and hefted it broodingly. "Nothing like a piece of Stone for a real game."

Whff.

"Guess it figures a hairy bronto like you would understand that. Not like all these other surfacers. Never had living Stone under their feet, nothing overhead where it belongs. Just that weird, water-dripping nothingness. Open . . empty . . . unending . . . ergh." The dwarf squeezed his eyes shut, his face suddenly gone chalky, and gripped the rock in both hands.

"I think I'll just . . . hold onto this . . . for a while."

.o0o.

Thomp.

"Enchantment?"

Whff.

"En-chant-ment!"

.o0o.

"It is a rock."

Thomp.

"Why did you bring me this rock? It is inadequate as a weapon and not the right kind for a fire starter. It serves no purpose."

Whff.

"I do not understand. Why do you carry it around? Why should I? Is it some kind of training exercise?"

Rrwhff.

"It seems inefficient."

Rrrrf.

.o0o.

"Hmmph. Well, 'tis preferable to finding a rotting coney in my spare smallclothes."

.o0o.

Thomp.

Sabhya put aside the elfroot he had been cleaning and obligingly picked up the rock to throw it, but was forestalled when Blossom flopped down to lie across his leg. Chuckling, the mage rubbed his friend's massive head and idly perused the stone in his hand.

Clods of damp earth dropped, dark and rich with the promise of new growth, and flecks of mica glinted as he turned it. A spill of milky quartzite threaded its way through a miniature landscape of grey-dark crags and ravines marked, rune like, with the white cross-hatching from scraping fangs. Each glassy bubble of froth was adorned with a tiny window of iridescence that quivered and slid under the slightest stirring of air.

Sabhya smiled.

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

.o0o.