Gorge

The hum laughed, a gravelly cascade of stones. “He is here. He is... comfortable. He asked for a story, and I am a patient teller.”

Lena didn't believe in grief. She believed in rope, a headlamp, and the fierce, burning love of an older sibling.

“Give him back,” Lena whispered, her anger crystallizing into something sharp and clear. The hum laughed, a gravelly cascade of stones

A few yards further, the gorge opened into a small, impossible chamber. The walls were smooth, like polished glass, and in the center sat Theo, cross-legged and wide-eyed. He was unharmed. He was also staring at a point in the empty air, his lips moving silently.

She grabbed Theo’s hand. He blinked, the glaze shattering. “Lena?” comfortable

Lena froze, her hand on the cold, wet rock. “Where is my brother?”

“You see,” the voice said, now coming from everywhere and nowhere, “I am old. Older than the hills. I have seen continents drift and seas drain. But I have no eyes. You children bring me pictures. Memories. Your little lives—so bright, so brief. They are my only light. Your brother had a lovely one about a birthday cake with a blue dog on it. I am savoring it.” “Give him back,” Lena whispered, her anger crystallizing

Behind them, the depths were silent.

“Another one. This one smells of anger, not fear. Interesting.”