Chapter Text
Feldspar would come hurtling out of the sky during the warmth of those younger blurry days. When Rutile and Gneiss would take you and the other hatchlings out to the vast swaft of empty fields out and above the crater to play. The fields where the oxygen was lower and Gneiss's gentle strumming carried further. Where hatchlings could run for only minutes before stopping to gasp and choke for air—Rutile had told you, Halite, and Hatchite that it was Hearthian tradition to take the hatchlings up there to strengthen your lungs. And then when Hatchite and Halite had begun to mock the idea Rutile threatened that hatchlings who didn't leave the crater would revert back to fish. And none of you really wanted to chance that.
Out of the three of you, you had been the oldest, 7 years, but only 10 months older. Hatchite and Halite had been born only days apart. You were the outlier, and their quiet incomprehensible Hatchling babbling had reinforced that. So you stuck by Gneiss when the five of you went up there, cuddled next to their legs as they sat in their chair and strummed at their newest invention. Biting at your finger nails until all three of them bled and Gneiss would carry you back down to the village to be seen to. For the bleeding. Not without being scolded first. There was a comfort you found in being scolded. In the care of having your fingers cleaned with disinfectant that stung and wrapped gently with bandages soaked in tree sap.
But today you were running, chasing after the two younger Hearthians as they had designated you the object of their game and you hadn't had the heart to say no—maybe in some weird way you had felt guilty for always telling them no. The pounding of your legs as you chased them made your lungs burn with every effort to keep moving forward. Only 10 months younger and so much more capable of being alive.
It wasn't fair.
You had managed somehow to reach out for Hatchite and grab onto their ear, only for Hatchite to screech and turn around in an attempt to bite you. You immediately let go and instead were head butted by the gremlin and tripped over your own boots in the fray. You hit the grass. Hard.
Hatchite stuck their tongue out at you and in a motion you'd seen countless times before pretended to sprint off in contradictory directions like the fastest of hearthian lizards. Halite watched everything unfold from a distance giggling at your misfortune before Hatchite reached them and attempted to knock Halite on their butt too. The sweet justice of revenge. Doled out by the same attacker.
Instead of getting up and continuing the game, you gave yourself the gentle mercy of just staying on the ground, enjoying the warmth of the sun that only ever seemed to get warmer and the soft embrace of the grass. It would get itchy soon, as grass usually did, but for right now, it was ok. Even if it was going to stain your shirt and pants and scarf, that would be a problem for Gneiss. After all, you couldn't be mad at grass for something like bleeding cholorphyl because of the weight of your body.
Stars, that must make you evil.
It was nice. To be given time to think. A pleasure so rarely given in the world of seeming Hearthian nonsense. Where there was always seemingly something needing to be done and so little Hearthians to do it. Of course you didn't mean it. It wasn't nonsense. None of it was really. You were just bitter, if you had to really try to explain it. Gneiss had called it hatchling angst. Rutile had called it being a unhelpful little shit.
You liked Rutiles way of saying it more. Gneiss tried to hard to be nice. And you loved them. In the way a hatchling loved their caretaker, in the way a hatchling loved the first face they could ever remember. But Rutile's harshness—made what you felt—all the horriblelessness of it—real.
That didn't make it suck any less.
It was only a little while later that your musings would be interrupted by the sky screaming. You opened the eyes you hadn't realized were closed to look into the clear blue and see it. Whatever it was.
You realized then the stillness of the clearing. As if the entirety of the Hearthian population—or at least the few in your general vicinity—was holding their breath. As you all tried to make out what it was that as hurtling towards Timber Hearth at inhearthian speeds.
Quickly it registered that whatever it was. It had changed from its ascent to a rapid descent and was becoming clearer and clearer within the second. Something spindly, a lighter blue in tans of tree leather and that lighter shade tree leather gets with wear, or maybe even the canvas that Rutile had developed as a younger Hearthian in order to allow easier movement. Whatever it was exactly—that was almost most definitely a Hearthian falling out of the sky.
And you were in the intended tajectory.
Never having been the most athletic hatchling—as had been proven very thoroughly by the fact you had been on the ground to begin with—you scrambled to your feet to get the fuck out of the way. Unless you want to end up another plot Marl would have to dig up in the cemetery next to the weird construction Rutile and Gneiss refused to let any of the hatchlings investigate. It would be really really cruel of you to make someone only a couple years older than you dig your grave.
Marl didn't deserve that.
Feldspar hit the ground hard, like something evil falling in a burning path out of the sky—Hatchite would later whisper, in the dead of night, like a star. The impact of their body on the earth exploding the grass, the dirt, and whatever else had once constituted the hearth up in an explosion of unrestrained force. Knocking you to the ground in an intense invisible wave of heated air from the pure energy their body had conducted on its way across the sky, not before whipping your ears behind your head and forcing your eyes closed.
How they ever managed to survive that you never truly figured out. But that was just what made Feldspar a good pilot.
You lay flat on your back for a while, your body stunned by the suddenness of it all. As rapidly as it had happened it was over. Fast and wild and untamed in a way Hearth probably hadn't seen since Hearthians first left the waters. Or maybe even the days of Nomai and their machines. Your ears sting from the whiplash, so does your face and body. But still, when it all began to come back into focus the first thing that registered—besides the pain—was the sound of laughter.
Like choking dying laughter. Like laughter born of excitement and exhilaration, only slightly restrained by the immense pain its source must have experienced from falling out of the fucking sky. It was maddening but oddly soothing. To be able to find such seemingly endless fulfillment in that of all things—it was envious.
It wasn't long before you were able to sit up, slowly crawl to your knees and then stand on two shakey legs. By the time you had pulled yourself together enough to wobble your way over to the newly formed crater that the pilot lay at the center of Halite and Hatchite stood at the edge. Both of their almost identical faces staring in awe at the manic Feldspar. Rutile stood a couple meters back, their arms crossed with a deep look of disappointment painted across their features. Gneiss was nowhere to be seen but you could assume just well enough that at the sight of Feldspar's body they had ran back down into the village to get help.
And you—much like Halite and Hatchite—stood and stared at the beaten to shit mess currently cackling with seeming madness. It was one of those things that would haunt your mind for awhile after—as well as your waking moments as it was that very very moment—and what would transpire furthermore—that Hatchite would decide to dedicate themselves to chasing the fever dream of space exploration. Like some kind of sickness passed from one generation to another. All found in whatever kind of defiant DNA Feldspar had hatched with.
You could only wonder what it was Hatchite had seen in Feldspar that day, laying in that crater with an arm bent at an impossible angle, a very obvious break in their bone—as it could be seen sticking out from their elbow. The dark blue that leaked from your own cuts and scratches billowing and pulsating with the rhythm of their laughter out of them and into the deep browns of the hearth and the lighter tans of their uniform. The bone sticking out of their arm sinewed in what looked more like torn up fish meat than Hearthian skin.
Some of their eyes had yet to open, the right top and bottom. Gravity had pooled the blue blood from the cut that split their mouth into an even wider slit into the indents of their closed right eyes, coagulating into a violet as it dried quickly in the Sun.
There was also bleeding from their midsection too—likely from absorbing most of the shock of the impact. You didn't want to see what was under there, what other kind of damage the Hearthian body could survive.
It felt like a little too long until you were finally able to look away—the viscerality of it made it almost unreal, a bad dream. Or maybe even an intrusive thought. But Feldspar's continued laughter made it very hard to ignore the reality of the situation.
There was the sound of yelling coming in from the direction Feldspar had shot through the sky from. For a second you considered that maybe more Hearthians might be falling from the atmosphere, but the sound of footfall on grass quickly snapped you out of that delusion.
"Oh my stars! OH MY STARS FELDSPAR! OH my STARS! Oh oh oh Stars oh—"
"Fucking Hearth Slate you couldn't have at least—STARS FELDSPAR—-SLATE on Hearth if absolutely Anything Happened!!!—-"
"Will you shut the fuck up! Do you think I would ever intentionally—they're fine on Hearth Feldspar is fine! It just looks bad—"
Three voices, three loud voices of three very frantic Hearthians were racing towards the four of you—Halite and Hatchite, yourself, and of course the crater.
"Hatchlings! Hatchlings step back from there! This official Ventures business!" the tallest of the three addressed the younger and you first, their voice a little screechy but it wasn't clear if it was just their natural way of speaking or the panic of seeing their seeming comrade splattered like fish guts on the hearth.
You could still feel Rutile's gaze on the situation and if standing where you stood at the edge of the crater had really been that big of a deal your guardian had given no indication. So you ignored them—as did Hatchite and Halite. You'd never considered one for gossip but stars did you not want to miss whatever it was that was happening here.
A second deeper, tired voice sounded, "Lay off 'em will you Hornfels. Of course the hatchlings are gonna wanna see this," they punctuated their exclamation with an irritated sigh. "Let's focus on you know, the situation," they gestured cautiously to their still giggling friend.
"Will you stop that! This is not a "situation" Slate!!" the smallest of the three rightfully lamented, "What is wrong with you!! Both of you!! Stars, for the love of Hearth please stop laughing Feldspar!! What about this could possibly be funny!!"
Ah the voice of reason. What had been missing.
Feldspar spoke through broken laughter, out of breath from the exertion "well you see—when I had been up there," Feldspar extending the arm that didn't have a bone sticking out of the elbow up to the sky in emphasis, "your face had just looked so unbelievably stupid Gossan!!" More laughter escaped them. "Like I was going to blow up into confetti. You weren't even blue anymore!!" And just like that the broken pilot let their arm fall back to the hearth and started cackling again.
"STARS FELDSPAR!! I thought you were going to die!!!"
The second tallest—or maybe the tallest, now that you really looked at them they seemed to be slouching, most likely the actual tallest—impatiently hitting their hip with a wrench choose then to answer Gossan's very clearly rhetorical question. "Well, they didn't die though did they Goss?"
It was like the mechanic—you think, or assume, they were covered in grease, stars if you weren't making a lot of assumptions—definitively not a good thing—purposefully spoke to piss off Gossan—or Goss—Goss was cuter. You thought at least.
Gossan responded, in what was almost a comfortable predictability, rather poorly to this. Rushing up and gripping the sides of Slate's work vest and pulling them down to their level. The metal of Slate's welding mask clinking against the shiny orange yellow of Gossan's visor—you found yourself secretly hoping it hadn't scratched. "I swear to all the stars in the fucking sky slate," the smaller spoke quieter now—thats how you knew a threat was real, or at least that's what Rutile had told you. "If anything you ever build," Gossan pointed to Feldspar who had stopped laughing and was now pointedly watching them—with their good eyes—raptly, "that kills THAT Hearthian, I will personally put you in the ground. Understood?"
Slate nodded quickly. Satisfied Gossan dropped them to the ground, Slate squeaking as they made impact. Gossan hurriedly rushing to Feldspar who had begun complaining openly about how much pain they were in—guess laughter as medicine only lasted so long.
"Jackass," Slate muttered, quietly enough that Gossan couldn't hear. Probably not wanting to start another "thing".
The second tallest—Hornfels this time—sighed, "Well thanks for that. Giving Outer wilds Ventures a good name with the community aren't we," gesturing towards you, the two younger, and Rutile before extending their hand to help Slate off the ground.
"Didn't even realize the old fart was there," Slate grunted dusting off their slacks and readjusting their belt. It made you more nervous than it should have knowing Rutile had most definitely heard.
"Well did you really think they'd let the hatchlings up here unsupervised?"
"Good point."
Hornfells pulled out a clipboard from seemingly nowhere and began to make adjustments, pointing with their graphite stick at something or other to get Slate's opinion. Slate nodding silently, fingers rubbing their chin like they're in deep thought—but you can't imagine what deep thoughts a brute like that would have. Mechanicals and Machines probably.
You turn your attention back to Feldspar who has yet to move from where they have been laying, but unlike before have a contented almost pleased smile as Gossan rips at their own pant leg, up to the thigh, in order to have enough material to make a rudimentary cast for Feldspar's broken arm. With calculated patience they slowly work the snapped bone back inside of Feldspar's arm and wrap it closed, their naked knee digging into the dirt—their other knee probably is too, but its not the one you can't stop looking at, its not the exposed one—a slightly lighter shade than the tan of their arms. By the time Gossan's work is finished, they're painted in the congealing violets of Feldspar's vitals, leaving you to wonder how Feldspar hasn't passed out from blood loss. Maybe that's the reason for Feldspar's softness as they gaze with their good eyes at Gossan—they were rapidly losing blood.
Gossan brought their hand up to Feldspar's two closed eyes, softly wiping the gooey indigos from their face, freeing their right two eyes to open and crinkle with relief. Feldspar mouthed a thank you that was too quiet for you to hear, but knew went appreciated by the way Gossan smiled with relief.
It wasn't too much later that the frantic yelling began as Gneiss returned from the crater with excitable, concerned, angry Hearthians carrying medical supplies and arguing something fierce about the antics of the Ventures. Things began to blur then. You never really did good with crowds.
The crater was moist with the early evening air by the time you returned, descending alongside Hatchite and Halite into the cabins and conifers. Rutile had told you to take the younger two and head back, that Gneiss was occupied and it was best that you three left. Not that you really had any complaints in that regard. You had seen enough Hearthian blood for a lifetime—you had a feeling your life would be filled with much more. The way Hatchite kept chattering away about being a Venture as they kicked rocks in front of you, watching them stumble and chase each other down the steep pathway. It made you nervous. But most of today had.
Halite toddled behind the two of you, hands in their pockets as they frowned at Hatchite. Disturbed as much as yourself at the further prospect of space travel—and the injuries it would take to get there. You wanted nothing more than to comfort them, to tell them Halite wouldn't dare. That they're both young and much like all of Hatchite's other phases it would pass. It always passed. Only two days ago Halite had been dead set on replacing Tektite as the resident tree keeper—but you were pretty sure they said that purely to make Marl mad. Which worked.
Predictably.
But this. This felt different. Permanent in a way you couldn't quite name. And honestly, you weren't sure you wanted to.
And so you walked in silence alongside Halite, listening as Hatchite described in vivid detail Feldspar's injuries and just how remarkable Feldspar was. And other such things with no correlation.
At only a year old you had barely learnt to walk. Which Gneiss had informed you was a big achievement for a young hatchling. That it meant your legs were strong and that you would grow into a tall Hearthian. Not that you really believed them.
That time was blurry. In the same kind of unexplainable way your eyes are unfocused when you first open them in the morning. Despite being fully rested and theoretically healthier than the ones you closed the night before. Memories that slipped in and throughout your mind in the waking day, easily recalled, even if almost instinctually, but never permanent material with a chance to work through. Mentally.
But you remembered the first time you ever held Hatchite and Halite. Only a hatchling yourself, your tail still yet to be absorbed by your spine for nutrients. A weird uncomfortable semi-permanent attachment to your body that made it hurt when you fell more than it would when it was gone.
And yet for all the clumsiness in your youth Gneiss had called you over, the early recognition of your name one of the only things you could understand. And so you did as you knew to, slowly toddling over on still unexplored legs. You embraced Gneiss's booted feet as you stumbled into them. Relishing in the melodic giggle of the first face you would ever know.
Looking up in curiosity at tiny movements cradled in Gneiss's arms. Two sets of four tiny nubby ears poking from the twin swaddles greeted you. Slowly—as if instinctually you knew the fragility of a hearthlings little body—you reached your chubby arms to investigate.
Gneiss smiled at you, carefully balancing the hatchlings in their arms, as they slowly let you take hold of the smaller one. Allowing you to pull them close to your chest, mimicking how Gneiss had before you. Feeling the tiny beating of its heart against your own—so much weaker and yet so present and alive much like yourself. Before you knew their name you knew their eyes, beautiful kladiescopes of yellows and the shadow of their pupils creating rings of purples reflecting in their iris. Eyes so small yet so much wider than even yours were at that age. Or so you had been told.
They didn't move, or make a noise. Even when the other hatchling held by Gneiss had started to cry and whine for food. As if they were so raptured with your facade that they could focus on nothing else. Their smaller bottom eyes crinkled at the small toothless smile they gave you, as they opened and closed their mouth as if mouthing at wonder itself.
It was only at one year they were named. Much like how the year they were born you had been given your name—Porphyry.
You had held Hatchite.
Later you'd find yourself interrogated by the older hatchlings in the muggy warmth of the hatchling cabin—your home. Sitting uncomfortable on your loft as Gabbro, Chert, Marl, and a very uncomfortable looking Riebeck circled around you. All asking expectant questions about the Hearthian who had fallen from the sky. The sun having begun lowering against the heightened walls of the crater. Casting their shadows against the walls and furniture of your shared dwelling like predators.
But you really shouldn't think of your loved ones like that.
All you could do in response was stare at the worn wood beneath your secondhand boots—it wasn't worth making new shoes for Hatchlings, when they would just grow out of them in a matter of months. You were already on your second pair. Gneiss told you it meant you'd grow up tall.
You wished they wouldn't surround and beg you for answers with questions. But rather it be you than the youngers. The idea of them in your position made your stomach swim like the geyser pools with tadpoles even more than it already was. Even if Hatchite would probably enjoy going on and over again about the heroics of Feldspar. The Hearthian who was going to land themselves among the stars. It was hard not to worry about Hatchite—it was easier to relate to them than it was the teens who surrounded you now.
At least they had Halite. To protect them.
But where did that leave you.
Chert—13 years, six years your senior—was the first to ask a coherent question. "So….Feldspar actually broke their arm? And the bone was sticking out?" The widening of their pupils against the blue of their eyes betrayed the false sincerity of their wondering—above all else they wanted to know to know. They wanted to know because self proclaimed scientists always sought answers.
You nodded quickly, hoping your face didn't pale at the memory. Hoping you didn't give any indication of the sickness and emptiness you felt in the pit of your stomach. You hadn't eaten, not even when prompted by Gneiss when they had returned from the medicine cabin to join you, Halite, and Hatchite by the fire. It was just. A lot to take in. And these rapid intense overlapping questions were doing little to help.
All you could do was stare at the way Chert's oversized shirt hung off their smaller form. Gabbro had once told you that Chert had spent a little too much time next to a geyser as a tadpole and got overcooked. You had felt bad for laughing. You felt even worse when you saw the self assured smugness of Gabbro's smirk.
Chert stared at you, as if their eyes could bore into your skull and force you to give a better answer. "Porphyry, it's ok if you don't want to answer, but it is kind of rude to ignore a question when asked."
Playing nice. Playing almost nice.
The sun had set even lower now—almost gone—and the cabin walls were now painted in the dying blues of the day. The limited light obscuring half of Chert's face. The fat of their cheeks losing their hatchling like cuteness that won favors with all the older Hearthians. Their face gaining a dangerous quality—a quality you suspect was always there. Just beyond view.
"Yeah, don't be so lazy with the details hatchling," nudging Chert out of the way Gabbro—15, eight years older than you, born the same year as Marl, the two oldest still considered hatchlings—added in that irritatingly calm monotone their voice always seemed to possess . "Give us something to work with, like all four ventures were there right? What were they like?"
Riebeck—11, the youngest of their brood, three years older—who had been playing with their fingers the entire time. Even the extra one. Finally spoke up, "Come on you know Rutile doesn't let any of us speak to them. Says they're going to get themselves killed and get us killed to," their timid voice took on a seemingly impossible even more apprehensive tone, "I've spoken to Hornfels before….please don't tell Rutile….but never the others!! So you gotta tell us!!"
All four of the teens nodded in unison, staring expectantly with their 12 combined eyes. You really just wanted them to stop. But you didn't see a way of getting out of this without giving what they want. The older Hearthians always seemed to get what they wanted out of you, but maybe that was just what it meant to be younger.
"Well….Rutile yelled at them for awhile, after they took them away. They were really hurt," you squeezed your thighs through the fabric of your jeans to ground yourself. To keep yourself out and away from the reality of your memory. "They had….broken their arm really badly….."—the bone had pierced itself through their skin—"….and they had a cut on their face…."—so wide you could see their exposed teeth glistening against the sheen of their blood.
"Oh yeah I've heard about Feldpsar. Rutile says they're like the worst one out of the three, Hornfels told me they're the one who came up with the Ventures…..don't tell Rutile I've been talking to Hornfels….."
Gabbro patted Riebeck on the back, making Riebeck jump a little before relaxing into the familiar comfort. "Relax Riebeck, your secrets safe with me, gotta watch out for Chert though. I hear they'll do anything to appease the elders."
Chert scoffed, offended but not enough to do anything about it, "Gabbro is full of it. Full of all the Ghost Matter in the world. Perfectly full of nothing but lies."
"Wouldn't hold it past you," Marl sighed, a past victim of Cherts relentless nature.
Ignoring Marls comment, as well as whatever else Gabbro was about to add Chert focused their attention back onto you. "So go on, don't mind them. I know you have more to share."
"Um well…..Feldspar…," the name unfamiliar on your tongue, tasting like a word Rutile would scold you for saying. "…they were pretty hurt, and there was this one Venture, Gossan"—your mind added unhelpfully—"they were the one who started bandaging Feldspar, they managed to….uh…move Feldspars bone back into their arm and um….." your consistent pausing only brought more attention to yourself. You don't know why you found it so hard, to talk about this. Especially when those in front of you so desperately wanted to know. Wanted to listen to you. "….well they tore off their pant leg…" you could still see it now. The way the hearth nestled the knee of their skin into the dirt, it made you unbearably uncomfortable. "…to wrap up the arm, to stop the bone from sticking out again."
"Wait you're telling me the bone genuinely came like…out of the arm?" Chert motioned around with their hands. Finding their own six fingers unsatisfactory they began to wave around Riebeck's arm to extrapolate their point further. Much to Riebeck's very clear displeasure.
"That's kind of gruesome," Marl commented, in that short, 'I'm stating the obvious' way that made you feel exasperated. But a comment was still a response. A reaction to what you said.
"Its good that they got immediate help," Riebeck grimaced pulling their arm away from Chert, "I guess its good Gossan was there."
Yeah it was good. Out of all the Ventures—and the very little judgement you could really pass onto Hearthians you didn't know personally—you liked Gossan the best. You had decided the moment they had maneuvered the bone back into the muscle of Feldspar's torn up arm, with that genuine confidence reserved to the Hearthians who knew how to help those around themselves. To take care of those they cared about.
You surprise even yourself when you ask, "the Ventures….they're the ones building that structure, right? The one Rutile won't let us go near?"
Chert nodded quickly like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Yeah they are! It's a launch tower, can you believe it? They're building a launch tower, well it's mostly Slate and Hornfel's enigineering but supposedly they're going to be sending Hearthian's into space!! Can you believe it?" Chert clasped their hands together and held them to their face, their eyes a million miles away. That same look Hatchite possessed. It made you uneasy all over again. "They're going to send Feldspar up into space, to study the stars and learn about the Nomai. Find life on other planets!"
"Yeah but Rutile says…." Riebeck's hands already back to wringing themselves nervously, "…..they're just going to get themselves killed…..that Hearthians like them are why Hearthians die young."
Gabbro rolled their eyes, bringing their arm to rest around their juniors shoulders, "You know Rutile says a lot of things Riebeck, you can't take it all to heart. Besides remember what Gneiss says, 'don't listen to anything that old ass says' and 'you are the future of the Hearthians and as the future you will always find a way to be ok' so just let yourself breathe." Gabbro's Gneiss impression was admittedly really good, and you couldn't help but wonder if they had learnt it just for the sake of their youngers. Riebeck's breathing gradually slowed to a healthy pace,and Gabbro did not let go of them the entire time.
It was probably nice. To be relied on like that. Maybe one day, if you're lucky, you can be like Gabbro for Halite and Hatchite.
Maybe you can be like Gossan.
You were the first to bed that night. The comforts of the carefully woven blanket you had slept with since you had first emerged from the geyser pools—crafted specially by Gneiss for every hatchling from the moment they come up for air—wore unfamiliar around your body. Suffocating like you imagine the shell of your egg must have felt to your infantile being as you slowly became aware of what else the world could possibly offer.
The hour of night eluded you, not that any guess beyond the relative position of the moon would give an accurate answer. And the hatchling cabin wasn't built with a skylight. Slate might know, maybe, with their inventions. It wasn't too long ago that you could recall Rutile yelling at them furiously for giving their "clock" to the curious Gabbro to use. Telling the time was a funny concept. But one that had interested you and the other hatchlings combined as you whispered theories in the dead of night, arguing the validity of Gabbro's account. As you oftened argued the validity of many of Gabbro's accounts.
But there was no one to argue with tonight. Everyone fast asleep as the heat of the day had rendered them useless. Drained into exhaustion by the warmer season and the trapped heat of the crater slowly baking everyone alive. It was an uncomfortable silence. Not even the sound of Hatchite or Halite from where they slept tangled together above you on your combined leveled bed snored.
Eventually you kicked your blanket to the corner of the bed. Allowing yourself to bask in the rush of the cold night air as it encompassed you. You closed your eyes. Only then allowing your mind to wander, escape out of your controlled way of thinking. Back to wondering about Gossan. To remember Gossan smiling at Feldspar with such dedication and care. Imagining how that feeling, of warmth and familiarity, would feel against your own skin.
It was only then you slept.