Dragoncrest Cliffs three redwing blackbirds outside my window

Chacal was gone. What was grief? Was that what they called this harrowing pain? Astera stared at the Thoughtstone from the shore, sensing every joint and bone in her body, but feeling nothing at the same time. 

This was the woman who'd taken her in, plucked her from the brink of abandonment. This was the woman she'd come to know as Maman, Mom, and every other familiar moniker lost to the tide.

She carried a conch shell to the Thoughtstone, the brine no comfort to her this time. The pale seafarer had intended the gift to be presented a while ago, but this would have to do. She clambered onto the rock, placing the patterned shell down. 

Perhaps Chacal would be able to hear the ocean inside it, but Astera supposed that would be of little meaning, since Sapphique's tanzanite had become one with the sea itself.