The sun shone down on the gravelly beach next to the lighthouse. The tide had pulled back exposing the teeth of the rocky coast. Gulls flew overhead, dropping sea urchins onto the rocks below. Peter hop frogged from one stone to the next, looking back after each jump to see if his father was watching. His father would pause from trying to skip stones and give him a wave. Smiling, Peter would leap onto the next stone.

He sprinted through the rectangular patch of shade under the lighthouse's walkway and blinked up into the sunshine on the other side. He looked back in his father's direction, shielding his eyes with one hand. He couldn't see him beyond the heavy beams of the walkway, but the sound of stones kerplunking into tide pools assured him that his father was still there.

Peter sized up the number of good hopping rocks on this side of the beach. His brow furrowed. While there were plenty of rocks for jumping and climbing on, most of them were covered with little piles of stones and pebbles balancing precariously in the summer breeze.

A small rock pile to his left toppled, its pieces bouncing noisily down the rocks until finally plunging into a shallow pool of water hidden below. Peter turned and found himself staring straight into the eyes of a young man. The last piece of the ill-fated tower was held motionless between the stranger's fingers.

"Gug."

Peter didn't answer, but continued to watch the young man. He suddenly felt very shy yet couldn't pull his eyes from the stranger's. The stranger was shirtless and bronzed from the sun. His hair was so blond it looked like the crest of a wave. His eyes were mismatched, one blue and one green; but each shone like sea glass held up to the noonday sun.

The stranger broke the gaze for him. He started gathering up more small rocks. Peter picked up one that he had seen slide into a small nook. He held out the small oval stone while remaining a safe distance from the young man.

The stranger looked up and smiled. "Well, now that is quite a rock you have there. See how smooth and flat it is? Perfect building material. May I have it?"

Peter pursed his lips for a second as he thought it over. He squinted one eye and cocked his head a little before answering. "Yeah."

He tossed the stone toward the stranger who caught it left-handed and held it between his thumb and forefinger. He examined it carefully and nodded his head. "Yes, a fine rock."

Peter sat down cross-legged, facing the stranger and watched as the man continued to rebuild the tower of pebbles.

"What does 'Gug' mean?"

The stranger looked up. "Have you ever heard of Stonehenge?"

Peter nodded that he had.

"Well, Gug was the head architect on that project. He made sure all the angles were right and that the stones fit together perfectly. To invoke the name of Gug is to bring luck to any Cairn, large or small."

"Karen?"

"No, Cairn. Rhymes with, well, I guess it doesn't really rhyme with anything." The stranger made a sweeping gesture with his arm, encompassing all the small pebble piles on the rocks around them, "These are all cairns. I built them."

Peter scratched his nose. "Why?"

"Because I like to."

"But what if I came along and kicked them over?"

"Then I would build them back up."

"What if you weren't here?"

The stranger shrugged as he added another pebble. "Then I guess they would remain kicked over until I got back. And then I'd build them up again."

Peter filled his lungs with air and puffed his cheeks out at the stranger.

"Well now you look just like a Sloop," said the young man.

Peter looked at him quizzically. But the stranger continued building without noticing. Peter exhaled with a soft pop as his lips parted.

"What's a Sloop?"

"Sloops," said the stranger as he stared up at the cloudless sky, "are small flying marsupials the size of jelly beans. They nest in the Cairns I build. A whole gaggle of Sloops are up in the sky right now, circling around, waiting for me to finish building so they can move in."

"Hey Pete!"

Peter turned at the sound of his father's voice. He frowned, and looked at the nearly completed Cairn, then back towards the far side of the beach. He got up and dusted off the seat of his pants. The stranger smiled up at him and continued building. The Cairn was almost rebuilt.

"I have to go," said Pete.

"Um," said the stranger, nodding slowly.

"Will you be here tomorrow?" asked Pete.

The young man looked intently at the pebble in his hand as he answered. "If the Cairns need to be rebuilt. But if wind and rain and children's feet do not topple the Cairns, then tomorrow I will rest." His eyes seemed to look through the stone, at something hidden deep within it.

Peter chewed the end of his pinkie, watching as the stranger balanced the final pebble on top of the pile. The stranger held his hands inches from the Cairn waiting breathlessly. The Cairn stood strong. He smiled up at Peter and snapped his fingers. Peter smiled back and skipped away from the young man, ducking under the walkway of the lighthouse and disappearing.

The stranger stood up, stretched his aching back and took three measured steps over to the next flat stone. He crouched down and began sorting through the gravel, looking for the perfect pebble to start the next Cairn.