gathering_blue_novel-2

dried blossoms. But the little rock was inert and odorless, without a hint or
memory of life.
In contrast, the scrap of cloth from Kira's pocket, the one which had created
itself so magically in her fingers, fluttered where it lay near her head. Perhaps the
night breeze through the open window had made it move. For a moment Kira,
watching the moonlight and thinking of her mother, didn't notice. Then she saw
the cloth tremble slightly, as if it had life, in the pale light. She smiled and the
thought crossed her mind that it was like Matt's little dog, looking up, twitching its
ears, wagging its woeful tail, hoping to be noticed.
She reached out and touched the cloth. Feeling its warmth in her hand, Kira
closed her eyes.
A cloud shadowed the moon, and the room darkened. Finally, she slept,
without dreams; and in the morning when Kira woke the little cloth was limp, no
more than a wrinkled scrap of pretty fabric in her bed.