The Forecast Arc

THE FLAME

What it was: the arrow off the diner's weathervane, taken down the morning the card went up blank. Whose it was: the diner's. Alma still reads by it. Its stream burns this color in the night — and whatever the flame, every muerto it calms still warms to marigold on the way home.

IN THE HAND

A wide, gentle stream — it gathers the crowd and soothes them together.

THE CLAIM

A prize from the Chalk's shelf, fashioned for one hand. It isn't on the open racks: one of the three at the top of the record chooses it, and from then it hangs for them alone. See it on the shelf →