It began with a small blue stone. The stone was among several others on the windowsill in his friend's kitchen. It was the size of an almond. Henry picked it up. As he fingered it and studied the color, he felt something turn in his mind. Touching the blue stone put him on a different road. The road leading to the ancestors. Staring at the deep blue stone uncut, unremarkable, he saw in his mind the dark road he was headed down. He imagined himself accumulating shadows at each step, like drapes of cobwebs sticking to his skin. Everyone he'd meet on that road would be gone from this world. As he would be, when he reached the end of it. So began one man's journey into what it means to be an ancestor--especially if one has no biological offspring. What aspects of ourselves pass into the souls of others? How do we recognize our true children?