Thousand: Three Hundred Twenty-Four

gnome licks from his wrist. The girl waves off the bota with a rueful smile. The fisher gnome sniffs the painted stone, then holds it up. “Careful, you’ll smudge the paint.” “Ain’t,” says the fisher gnome. He puts the fresh one aside and looks down the portraits lined up along the soft log. Two are of the leprechaun’s face only, three of the fisher gnome’s, one profile, one all nose, the third cartoonish. He points at that one. “Disney,” the girl acknowledges. He plucks the top stone from the ones in her basket, runs his finger over its lush pad