Once, a great brood of Sprites crossed over, as many as would become Elders or who knows what tomorrow. After the ceremony Yari wandered off to Smokeland, weeping and howling, “What world will these Sprites conjure?” Isra feared doubt would rip Yari apart.

Despite great scouting skill in the everyday, Isra was a terrible smoke-walker. Luckily a wild dog had Yari’s scent and led Isra to Smokeland. Yari was slumped against black lava rocks, tongue drying up, heart a faint ember. The dog vanished, stranding Isra with Yari who was too feeble to smoke-walk them back to the everyday.

Isra scolded Yari, “You rescued me, but the good or evil I do is not yours, you arrogant wolf! Sprites belong to themselves. Let them fly!”

Yari’s heart burned bright again and vie brought them back to the everyday. Yari grinned at Isra and said, “Never let the enemy know your heart—until you marry them.”

This could have been a tall tale but Awa felt the truth of it as Yari hugged each Sprite. Isra touched a forehead to their open palms then jumped on a boulder and shouted, “Yari won’t mope with me after you all cross over. Vie goes off to find an exiled master, an old lover.” Isra sounded jealous and excited.

Yari jumped on the boulder too. “You said he’s lost his way; go find him.”

Isra poked Yari. “Come back to me.”

“Always.” Yari kissed Isra. “You are my rhythm, my reason.”

Sprites cheered the romantic scene, then Isra gave Bal the loom.

“I’ll tell stories tomorrow,” Yari shouted. “On all of you.”

“My story too?” Bal asked.

“No secrets too dangerous to play on this drum—yours tomorrow.” Yari handed Awa the bag of scrolls and wim-wom. “I give you my yesterdays.” Awa thought she might burst. Yari hugged her and Bal until Isra pulled them all into a barbarian jig.

Awa passed her last night as a Sprite wandering vivid vision-scapes. Smokeland got tangled in the everyday. Iron horses with red eyes trotted across Father’s fields to nibble Mother’s berries. Kenu built a tower to the scar moon and smiled as she and Bal rode wild horses through waterfalls and across black lava sand. Behemoths danced in waves and doused Awa with warm, salty water. She woke, drenched and laughing.

In the dark before dawn, Awa and Bal outlined their eyes in black kohl, twisted seeds in unruly hair, and rubbed their skin with green and red mica. Over green shifts, they donned cloud-silk robes, light as air and warm as fire. Dressed as Elders, they poured a libation to the ancestors and gave thanks to the bees, cathedral trees, and spiders, to the seas, green lands, Mama Zamba, and the sweet desert. Who would anybody be without rock, rain, and sand? Filled with anticipation, Awa and Bal joined other Sprites singing and dancing on a carpet of purple sand-bells to the enclave circle.