Oh, gosh, I heard it. Wind whispering its way through the leafy undergrowth. Stone grinding upon stone. Fire burning fire. Waves whisking seashells away from shore, to lie once more on the sandy ocean floor. Diamond scratching diamond. The Griffin's roar; spreading its black wings to soar, and to be lost, in a swirling silvery mist. The tinkle of bells in a war ravaged battlefield. I heard it.
How long exactly have I not heard it? A month? Far longer, I suspect.
Yet above all, the pearl, rolling about somewhere in this house in its sweet, unwavering rhythm, unseen, but heard.
