Some tales cannot be told when someone goes away. There is nothing left to say. Without an ending the beginning becomes blurry and tentative. All that can be known is her sadness. She left when the world was dimming and the moonlight was flickering like and old bulb about to burst. Heads tilted right and starred at images they thought they knew. It’s not that no one cared, but energy and fear is a drain on the spirit.
Uriah closed her book and filled an old tapestry bag with the least of her clothes. From the bedside table she took a small surprisingly round black rock. The rock had been given to her by an old dear friend, now long gone into the deep gray winds. The little rock was the only thing she cared about or needed. As she cradled the rock she felt its power. She held tight knowing it was the memory keeper.