He gathered the stones, shined them, made them beautiful.  In response, they sang to him. The lyrics tore at him. Such words of comfort, love, and even adventure. He wrote down the lyrics, committed them to memory, then later as he got older to his whole way of life. It seemed soon those words would match a woman. And eventually they did. She appeared in the fog one morning, her voice matching the voice of the stones. She sang  tantalizingly. They spilled over him and he fell to the floor, his hand releasing the jewels. Which had once been stones.
He fell at the woman’s feet.