They descended the black ridge in single file, rope linking wrist to wrist so that no one could slip into a different version of the slope. The valley floor felt wrong underfoot—solid, yet faintly delayed, as if the ground itself were deciding whether to confirm each step after it had already been taken. The standing stones watched them with the divided-circle marks cut deep into their faces.
Kael kept up a low, continuous monologue. “I rate the scenery lower than the crystal forest. At least the trees only remembered my boots. These stones look like they are taking notes on my entire personality.”
Cal, third in line, whispered back, “The slate says the stones are rude.”
“Accurate,” Sela confirmed, sketching as she walked.
Halfway across the valley the blank keeper reappeared inside th
