She nodded, whispering watchers' signs in her sleep-lingual: key.
He stepped from the circle to stand with Grace at the orchard's edge. The watchers were dim, but present, floating around their form like familiar silhouettes. Wind stirred ribbons and leaves with soft patterns of light. Grace leaned against him. "They showed her the memory-pool."
"They showed all of us," he said. "And the glacier-pool drew the watchers' memory into her heart."
She touched his cheek. "She's theirs now."
"And ours," he whispered. "We walk with watchersedge, memoryglow, mountain-birth."
They held each other as watchers pulsed once in unison, as though presenting them to each other: island, child, witness, covenant.
Dawn would come and reweave watchers sign into life. Their story would live in songs and memory world-built. They stayed unmoving, handshaking guardians, until watchers moved into the morning haze.