Flute’s deep chittering and the expulsion of breath through his tail vents was followed by the sound of wind in the aquajade and chabacho trees that surrounded the Briggs’ farmstead and claim. Behind that, the night chime shifted, harmony building, only to reset, rise, and crest again.

Glancing around the cabin, Kylee’s quetzal-augmented night vision penetrated the gloom. No moon or stars tonight. The sky had been overcast when she and Flute had retired for the night. Sniffing, she could smell rain on the air. A flicker of white light from distant lightning illuminated the window on the east. Meant the storm was coming.

Kylee shifted where she was curled against Flute’s soft tummy; her head had been pillowed on one of the quetzal’s forelegs. A slight gurgle came from somewhere in the beast’s gut as it digested a roo. They slept together, having created a “nest” of the blankets and padding. She, Tip, and Flute. A bonded trio. Lineage. Or they had been until Tip had stalked off into the forest.

“Something’s wrong,” the part of her that was Rocket warned. Though he was dead all these years, she still cherished and nurtured the part of him that survived inside her.

Kylee made a face, irritated. Easing out from Flute’s belly, she climbed to her feet and crossed to the window; she stared out at the night, seeing ever more flickers of white as they strobed in the clouds off to the north and east. The wind had changed, coming from the north. Typical spring storm. Wet cool air blowing down, hitting the curve of the Wind Mountains where they circled northeast to the coast. As the air was compressed and forced westward along the orographic barrier, it brought heavy rain to the forests around the Briggs holdings. This had the makings of being just such a storm.

“I’m so tired of being your little boy!” Tip’s angry words rang in Kylee’s memory. “You’re no older than I am!”

But she was. She’d absorbed too many of Talina’s memories back when they’d shared TriNA during those trying days at Mundo Base. Was it a blessing or a curse to have a mature woman’s perspective constantly popping into her head?

More of a blessing, Kylee decided. She crossed her arms, staring out at the fields where lines of barley, wheat, onions, garlic, peppers, cabbage, corn, broccoli, and the rest of the crops grew. And there, at the edge of the forest, was the big suspended bench swing where she and Tip used to sway. Cocking her head, Kylee could just hear the squeak of the chains as the strengthening breeze played with the hanging seat.