Stones That Dance

They walked away from the sleeping men.

The path was just a path now. The world felt a little less bright. Bob still held his stick-sword, but he did not hit trees with it. He did not pretend it was for slaying dragons. It was just a stick.

He walked closer to Traveller than before. The hollow ache in his chest was still there. A small, quiet thing. He did not like it.

Traveller walked in silence, but their pace was steady. After a while, they stopped. They looked at the main path, then looked at a small, barely-there trail leading into a grove of green, leafy trees.

Without a word, Traveller turned and took the smaller trail.

Bob followed. The trail led them downhill. Soon, he could hear the gentle sound of water.

They came to a hidden place. A small lake of perfectly clear water. It was surrounded by smooth, grey stones covered in soft, glowing moss. The air was cool and smelled of clean water and damp earth. It was a peaceful place. A safe place.

Traveller sat down on one of the large stones by the water's edge. They did not say anything. They just watched the water.

Bob watched them for a moment. He saw the quietness in their shoulders. It was the same quiet sadness from the campfire.

But Bob could not sit still for long. The hollow ache was annoying. He wanted it to go away. His eyes scanned the ground and saw the flat, smooth stones near his feet. They were perfect for holding.

He picked one up. It was cool in his hand. He looked at the big, still lake. An idea formed. A simple, childish idea.

He threw the stone at the water.

It did not dance. It went ker-plunk and sank, leaving a small ripple behind.

He frowned. He picked up another stone, a rounder one this time, and threw it as hard as he could. Ker-SPLASH. Bigger ripples, but still no dancing.

Traveller turned their head, the shadow of their hood shifting. They had been watching him. A small smile touched their mouth. They stood up and walked over, picking up a thin, flat, perfect stone.

"Not like that," Traveller's voice was soft. "Like this."

They knelt down, showing Bob how to hold the stone between his thumb and forefinger. They showed him how to flick his wrist, low and fast, across the water.

Traveller's stone flew. It did not sink. It danced.

Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink. Plink.

Five perfect skips before it finally slid into the water.

Bob's eyes went wide with wonder. He forgot about the sleeping men. He forgot about the hollow ache. He only saw the dancing stone.

"Bob... do!" he said, full of excitement.

Traveller found a good stone for him. Bob held it just right. He tried to flick his wrist. The stone wobbled and fell into the water with a sad plop.

He tried again. And again. Traveller watched patiently, sometimes adjusting his grip, sometimes just nodding.

Finally, on the tenth try, it worked.

His stone flew. It skipped! Once. Twice. Then a big splash.

A huge, happy grin broke across Bob's face. He had done it!

He quickly found another stone, eager to do it again.

The hollow ache in his chest was gone. The lake had washed it away. For the rest of the afternoon, the only sounds in the peaceful place were the happy shouts of a boy and the soft plink of stones dancing on the water.