27
The small bowl sat alone on the table top, the heartstone resting within it, the song emanating from its shape quieter now yet still present, tingeing the air with its notes.
‘Does that thing ever shut up?’
Higgs threw his bag into an empty corner of the room and slumped wearily on the bed. He’d been working all day, helping the other crafters restore their rooms and goods to their previous state, and hunting down tools and ingredients for those who found important items missing. He’d also found himself playing peace broker between crafters who squabbled over a much smaller pool of resources now that Cortis and his dogs had locked down the streets. Higgs was heartily sick of it all.
‘That “thing” is a sounding bowl. Our sounding bowl, as a matter of fact. It tells me when the hearts
