leena struggles to recall the sigil to storm-grounds… scrunching their eyes, leena queries internally, questing in memory, fingers curled remembering patterns.

sniffs and whiffs and swirls and whirls.

– yes, that’s the one!

with their right hand, leena grabs the last piece of travelchalk kept inside their waist pack. “poor thing,” leena thinks, rolling it around. it saved their lives many times in this roam. this might be the last time they are together. but if they are careful and misses no strokes, a piece might be left, and then leena can wrap it in amber and make it pendant.

their left hand massaging their scalp, leena holds tight on the travelchalk, and closes their eyes again. focusing, tuning the noises, focusing, closing the smells, focusing, warding the heat, focusing…

opening their eyes, a single focus now: the sigil to storm-grounds.

sniff – stroke. whiff – stroke. swirl – stroke. whirl – stroke.

they know it’s correct, even if not perfect. and a finger-knuckle sized piece still remains. “that, is perfect,” leena thinks, cradling the piece close to their chest.

left hand reaches out, touching the sigil.

– Bind Us!