Drumheller announces itself loudly. The land folds and fractures, the sky gets bigger, and the ground looks like it has opinions. This is not a place that pretends to be subtle. Jess arrives knowing this, and the dogs arrive convinced that this entire landscape was built specifically for them.

Malcolm steps out first, cautious and thoughtful, as if reading the room. Murdock charges ahead with the confidence of someone who has never once considered consequences. Maizekine immediately finds something unidentifiable and decides it is now part of her personality. The badlands accept them without comment.

Drumheller rocks are different. They are not polite river stones. They are sharp, layered, sunbaked, and unapologetic. You do not stumble upon them so much as negotiate with them. Jess moves slowly, scanning the ground, eyes adjusting to colour and texture. Browns that are not quite brown. Greys that lean green. Bands, fractures, secrets half exposed.

The dogs fan out. Malcolm stays close enough to supervise. Murdock adopts a perimeter strategy that involves sprinting up ridges and staring dramatically into the distance. Maizekine zigzags between them, occasionally stopping to dig for reasons known only to her. Dust coats everything. It is perfect.

Jess crouches near a cluster of stones weathering out of a slope. She knows better than to rush. Drumheller rewards attention. A rock that looks unremarkable at first can reveal structure and pattern once it is turned, once the light hits it differently. She wets one with a bit of water. The colours wake up. That small moment of transformation never loses its thrill.

Malcolm leans in to inspect. He has a strong sense of quality control. Murdock, misreading the situation entirely, attempts to assist by standing directly on the rock Jess is holding. Maizekine arrives with a fossil shaped object that may or may not actually be a fossil. She is proud either way.

There is something grounding about rockhounding here. Drumheller has no interest in your schedule. The heat presses down, the wind cuts through, and the dogs begin to collect dust like souvenirs. Jess fills her pockets selectively. This place is generous, but it demands restraint. Take only what speaks to you. Leave the rest to continue being ancient.

The dogs find shade where they can. Malcolm chooses wisely. Murdock pretends shade is optional. Maizekine flops dramatically in the smallest shadow available, sighing like someone who has had a very hard day of exploration. Jess laughs, because you have to laugh out here. The land encourages it.

As they move through the badlands, Jess thinks about time. Drumheller is built on it. Layers upon layers, compressed and exposed. Rocks that have waited millions of years do not mind waiting a little longer to be cut and polished. There is comfort in that. A reminder that good things do not rush.

Murdock spots something interesting and alerts everyone at full volume. It is a stick. Maizekine steals it immediately. Malcolm pretends not to know either of them. Jess finds another stone nearby, this one promising, heavy in the hand. It goes into the pocket. The dogs approve, mostly because pockets are fascinating.

By the end of the day, everyone is tired in a satisfying way. Boots are dusty. Tongues hang out. Pockets hold a small, carefully chosen collection of stones that will later become something else entirely. The badlands remain vast and unconcerned.

Drumheller does not send you home with souvenirs so much as it reminds you how small you are, and how lucky. Jess loads the dogs back into the vehicle, each one coated in dust and accomplishment. Malcolm settles in. Murdock resists rest on principle. Maizekine curls up with the stick.

The rocks come home quietly. They will wait. They always do.