//------------------------------//
// So 
// Story: Lo, 
// by Botched Lobotomy 
//------------------------------//

The story’s done. But this is part of it, too.
Limestone stands holding a rock-doll by the fire, swishing tail back and forth as she watches but tries not to seem like she’s watching. Her younger sister Maud is utterly uninterested, sitting at the table with her grandpa’s loupe, examining a lump of magnesium-rich basalt with all the concentration of a mare five times her age. I’m sitting on the floor, back to the couch, and my legs are full of Cloudy, and Cloudy’s legs are full of fur: two tiny bundles, always, unbelievably small. A little grey lump like a furry pebble, and just beside, her sister, senior by all of three minutes. I murmur against Cloudy’s ear, asking if I can take them. She deposits carefully one and then the other, and I hold them like a couple of raw eggs, like I have no idea what I’m doing, because this is how you have to hold them, because they are a pair of tiny and delicate miracles: grey fur in one hoof, and in the other, unexplained, impossible, a shock of vibrant pink.