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Hunger. Thirst. Water dripping upon saturated moss. A wound on the Hist tree, oozing sap like slow tears. Golden light, piercing the darkness like an arrow. Lightning. Sparks.
Betzi blinked several times, considering the visions. Why did the Hist show her the same thing? She wondered if her meditations were any use. She touched the fruit, nudging aside the woven twigs forming its nest.
They called it fruit, as it came from the Hist, but none ate this hardened lump. This fruit was exceptionally rare, and yet, the Hist wanted her to bring it to Hissmir. To use it, somehow.
"Why are you so important?" Betzi asked, turning the dark brown orb in her fingers. She rubbed it softly, marveling at its smoothness. Like scales, but without edges. Like an egg, like glass, like ….
"A Zaht stone?" Connections jumbled together in her mind's eye, then spooled into the correct order. Unprepared for the onslaught, Betzi cried aloud.
The others glanced at Betzi in irritation, their meditations interrupted by her outburst. And then understanding rippled through them as well. Betzi held the Hist amber aloft and marveled at the simplicity.
Zaht stones would protect Hissmir. But how?