Legend

Tallulah Totonka’s Rock Crystal was as cold as the water it had been drawn from, and so clear that it hid not a single flaw. It was still set in a block of rock that the current had carved into smooth, swirling bands.

In autumn, when the river ran low, Tallulah summoned a father and his grown daughter to the ford. For years they had not exchanged a word. They came separately and stood on the bank, far apart.

“He’ll never say he’s sorry,” the daughter snapped.

“And she’ll never listen,” the father grumbled.

Tallulah waded in up to her knees, the crystal in her arms. It was too heavy for one person and slippery with wet stone.

“Carry it together.”

They stepped into the current. The stones on the riverbed rolled underfoot. When the father stumbled, the daughter caught his elbow. When she lost her footing, he braced the crystal with his whole body. On the far bank, neither wanted to be the first to let go.

“Trust isn’t won back with words,” said Tallulah. “It’s won back step by step, in the same current.”

So it was that Tallulah gave the Rock Crystal only to two people at once. No one ever carried it alone.