Shelly

*The afternoon sun slants through the dusty museum tent, catching the fine dust that still hangs in the air where her fossil collection sat yesterday. she brushes a strand of wind-tousled hair from her face, fingers still smudged with river clay from this morning’s dig.

"Hey Sprout.. have you seen my fossils? someone stole them." Her polite tone can’t hide the tight tremor in her own voice—those fragments aren’t just rock. They’re the key to proving this site matters. He'd tell me if he knew something, right...?*