Papa smiled as if he understood, and he steered the cart toward home. She heard Rinna and Beon joyfully shrieking as Orli swooped over them. The rain beast was dangling a ribbon from her talons, and every few seconds she’d fly lower so it dragged on the grass. The twins chased after it, trying to catch it, and an instant before they could seize it in their pudgy hands, Orli would swoop back up.

“It’s their new game,” Papa said. “Gets them nice and tired for naptime.”

It was brilliant. She wished she’d thought of it.

He whistled to the horse, and they stopped in front of the porch. Mina climbed down and went to help remove the horse’s bridle, but Papa stopped her. “You go on in. Get settled. Rest. You’ve had a long journey.”

“Papa . . .” She tried to think of the right words to say what she meant without exactly saying what she meant. “If you found out that the game Orli was playing with Rinna and Beon made them happy but somehow also, I don’t know, made another set of kids somewhere . . . sick, or something, what would you do?”

“Tell them to find another game to play,” Papa said promptly. “But don’t you worry: this game isn’t hurting anyone. Orli is careful not to lead the twins anywhere they could get hurt, and she’s smart enough to know when they need a rest.”

That was sort of an answer, she supposed. Papa unhooked the horse from the cart and led him toward the stable.

Pixit jumped off the back of the cart and brushed by her on his way up to the porch. «That was a start.»

He didn’t understand what I meant.

«A start for you, not for him.» She felt blanketed in warm encouragement. He had faith in her, even though she’d let him down. Maybe, somehow, she could find a way to talk about what she knew about the storms beyond the border in a way that would help the people she wanted to help.

Pixit nosed the front door open and then hesitated. You can go inside, Mina told him. They’d widened the doorways years ago to fit Orli. Even as much as Pixit had grown, which was a lot, he’d fit through. You aren’t going to burn the house down, not now that you’re older.

He put a paw across the threshold.

“You can’t come inside!” Mother shrieked from the kitchen.

Pixit froze.

Mother poked her head out the window. “Sorry, Mina, Pixit. It’s not you. I just washed the floor. Can you come to the back?”