With his eyes closed, he passed his hand over the stones. Bits of spark jumped from them back to his fingertips. None of them felt quite right, however. It was a luxury to have the time to consult the runes. A luxury he didn’t often have anymore. Thus, he relished the charges of energy. Finally, one spark did not fade right away, drawing his finger to one stone in particular. He picked it up and briefly caressed the piece, worn smooth from many years of use. Then he flipped it over.
Disruption. Upheaval. Change.
That is what the rune spoke of, and yet it need not mean something terrible. A big change was coming. The rune did not reveal when, or what shape it would take. Whether he should resist or go along with it, the rune had given him the warning; the rest was up to him. The temptation to draw again, to gain some clarity, was great, but he resisted it. Another rune would merely reveal what he wanted to believe. That would not help this time. The runes were clear. The murkiness was his own.
He swept up all the stones and replaced them in their pouch. Change? He would be ready, whatever it meant.