Black remained, for a time, peering down at the tiny white stone the crow had left behind--and the far larger, glowing one, beside it.

Head tilted to and fro.

Ears pricked up, and then back.

Brow furrowed, wrinkled black velvet skin twisting this way and that as he pondered his new prize.

He wasn't sure what it was, what he'd done, but he knew that it would require protecting; he couldn't lift it away, and indeed it seemed to be fusing to the stone beneath. With a soft woof he finally stood, leaving the glowing stone behind to mark the new chrysalis's spot, and staggered back toward the tunnel to tell Fisher.

He felt he'd have to guard this, for awhile. He wasn't sure why.

But he knew that this was a part of him now, as surely as it was a part of the stone beneath.

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