The townsfolk thought he was touched. Not dangerous, just… thinned out, like a rock worn smooth by too many tides. They left him supplies once a month, and he left them baskets of wild herbs and strange, honey-colored stones that glowed faintly in the dark.
Cora looked at her hands. The earth under her palms was cool now, silent. She stayed on the ridge until dawn, thinking about the woman with the baby, and the baby’s calm, sleeping face. yarlist'
“Home,” Yarlist corrected. “They’re home. The ridge takes care of its own.” The townsfolk thought he was touched
“Yarlist,” she said.
He didn’t open his eyes. “Cora. You’re cold. Come sit.” just… thinned out