Veins of the Hearth

My clawed fingers traced the coarse mortar between the hearth bricks until they struck something dense and smooth. A thick slice of polished agate rested flat against the stone ledge, rimmed in rough gray crust. Bracing my feet against the hearth floor, I lifted the heavy mineral disc with deliberate care, feeling its cool weight settle into my palms. When I angled its translucent core toward the window, milky violet bands caught the light, gleaming like the cabochons forged into my own gauntlets. After quiet inspection, I seated the stone back squarely atop the brickwork, aligned true to the masonry.