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-Erin's Journal. November 15th.

Today, I have discovered an item of no real significance. While I expected to find many mundane things on my expedition, this one, in particular, proves itself to thoroughly inconsequential in the grand scheme of Ice-Age anthropology. There are many like it, but like every other doll or rock or coin that is just like it, this one is unique in that it exists as its own thing. It's funny. I was never really one for sentimentality when it comes to such dime-a-dozen discoveries. But this one resonates with me, almost as if it sings a song made specifically for me…

-November 16th.

I've spent the day in my tent examining the artifact more closely. It is made of stone and perhaps carved with simple tools. There are etchings upon it, making symbols or designs that I don't quite recognize. I can hold it in my hand like some sort of elliptical tool, and yet, I can find no discernible purpose for it. Nevertheless, it feels pleasant to the touch, smooth, with slight ribbing from the texture of the symbols. It's calming, like a worry stone, but larger. I must express my views to the others and see what they think.

-November 17th.

My colleagues chastised me for my instance of wasting time with such a worthless thing. They concluded that it was nothing but a pebble or stone and that the symbols I see etched upon it are nothing more than erosion from the river that used to be here. “Of course there are markings upon it," they told me, “we've found twenty other rocks just like it." But, we haven't, because this one is mine, and I know there's something here about it—something calling me. Am I going crazy, or am I seeing something no one else is seeing?

-November 18th.

I had the strangest of dreams last night. I fell asleep with the stone in my pocket, having spent all night pouring over my notes and the years of research on this region. Could it be that my delving into local mythology reveals the secret? The people here believed they could contact their gods through strange, yet mundane, means, and when I dreamed, I felt I was being beckoned somewhere…

I feel a tingling throughout my body. My excitement and anxiety rise. I have no idea what this means, but I must pursue this avenue of study further if I am to make any progress. I know that I am on the verge of something here. I just don't quite understand what it is yet. Perhaps another day's study will be enough for me.

-November 25th?

I haven't written in my journal in so long, and yet, it must only be about a week back in… dare I even call it 'home' anymore? I don't even know how much of it is really a part of me. I don't even know if I should consider the previous writings to come from “me" at all. Those who will read my work now will surly need more explanation of my previous life than my new friends do now. Perhaps, through some strange happenstance, this work will find its way back, and others will know the story of Erin—how he left and where he went.

When I awoke the day after my last entry, it was in the early morning and in a cold sweat. Too excited to go back to bed, I washed up in the nearby station, getting the perspiration off of my skin. The air was crisp and dry, but even so, my skin flaked, feeling more parched than ever before. I was never one for lotion, and yet it was like my entire body was coated in ash.

I spent the day scratching and scratching, too distracted with how uncomfortable wool undergarments were. Strange how the once soft material seemed to rub strangely upon my flesh. I wondered more often than not what was happening, but my worries were wiped away as supreme nausea fell over me. I Fell over into my dig site, hearing the startled cries of my fellows, and yet I didn't listen to them. Instead, I felt the cold splash of water and listened to the rumble of thunder.

I kicked and thrashed and pulled myself up upon the shore, clinging to the muddy river where previously there was only an extinct bank. Coughing, I threw myself upon the shore and rolled onto my bank. Panting, I stared up at the sky. Clouds covered most of the night-a night that was previously day. I pushed myself up, wiping mud from my face and brow, and pulling the shirt from my chest, letting the stickiness cling to my skin. I gasped, the feeling of fabric upon flesh tingling through my very being. I grabbed my chest and writhed upon the ground. I felt that sort of sensitivity one has when they are sick, and that strange pull to try odd things in a feverish delirium. I hardly noticed at that moment that the stars that were visible upon the sky were not like the ones I had grown up within my youth.

In fact, as I stared up at them, my vision blurred. I thought for that moment that perhaps my glasses were smudged in the mud. I pulled them from my face and rubbed at my eyes, but when I opened them, I was greeted with a bright and beautiful scene above me. The moon was covered by clouds, and yet, in the darkness, I could see more precise than I ever could before.