Intent #
Show the discovery of the touchstone and Ulysses' initial assessment.
Narrative #
He turned back to the dirt wall. He needed something. Anything. A coin. A shard. A bone.
His trowel scraped against something different.
It wasn't a root. It didn't give.
Clean edge. Flat. Familiar texture. Natural polish.
"Could be a touchstone," he whispered, the thrill of discovery fighting through his anxiety. "Better than pottery shards, I guess..."