This wey. Whit wey deu thay ken? Whit nummers

is on the timer coontan doon?

Foo an birlan roon Wolf, mibbe

a body wis matched her face tae the caa,

her styman bletheran tae her face,

pitten her face an story taegither,

an cashed thaim in. That, or else

Autonomist ethics isno as geud

as thay claim. Whitivver wey: her faithers

ken tae ransel the inner Nord.

Noo the aafil grave quaistion:

tae bide in this coothie orbit, or git

enogh o a pin tae flit the sistem,

like a rogue comet? Agalis

fer peedie staens tae win tae escaep

velocity, an sheu’s some tired,

an faimly’s gotten ferfil weyght.

An here is Astrid, a body at’s mibbe

growan anither gravity.

Tae bide, an hopp sheu’s chaenged enogh

tae no be aesy clyped on tae

her faithers? An hopp whan thay come –

thay will, fer whit can gowd no deu –

thay’ll no waant noo whit wey sheu is,

an hopp wi time enogh some wey

the Wheel’ll no waant tae lat her gang?

Darling catches word from home

The bulletin has changed. Her fathers have charted her route some distance around the stars. This way. Whathowwherewhy do they know? Which numbers are on the timer counting down?

Drunkmadfull and whirlrushdancespinning round Wolf, maybe someone had matched her face to the callherd, her staggeringblinddrunk talkchatrambling to her face, put her face and story together,

and cashed them in. That, or else Autonomist ethics aren’t as good as they claim. No matter how: her fathers know to searchsnoopransack the inner North.

Now the veryawfully serious question: to waitstaylive in this friendlycomfortablepleasantunthreatening orbit, or to get enough speedfeet to leaveflyescape the system, like a rogue comet? Extraordinarily difficult

for little stones to reachtravelachieve escape velocity, and she’s very tired, and family is veryfearfully heavy. And here there’s Astrid, a personbody who is maybe

growing another gravity. To waitstaylive, and hope she’s changed enough to not be easily ratted out to her fathers? And hope when they come –

they will, because what can’t money do – they won’t wantneed whathowwherewhy she is, and hope with enough time somehow the Wheel won’t want to let her go?

Inga taks her yole oot

Sheu canno ask her crew tae wirk ony hairder,

or thole tae quyt whan sheu’s taen in notheen

fer tree lang day: so here sheu is, alaen

abeun the swaall ithoot a keek o Light.

Sheu chairts the whirls, the lins, the mains an the birts

o the yallo yotun’s flowan sphere, an whar

thay’ll hopp tae find a sign o Lights the morn,

an than the osc stairts skrekkan like a bairn.

Inga kens sheu canno tak in the Lights

alaen, but: days ithoot a keek

an noo a mense o Light, the mosst fer months,

jeust whan sheu canno tak it. Sheu dives in,

intae the upper tides, intae the ee,