Pixit trotted to the house. He was so excited that sparks hopped between his scales like minnows stranded on a beach. «Let’s find out! Come on, Mina, make a start!» His excitement spilled into her, and she felt like she had the first time she’d seen lightning relay—​surprised at her own excitement. She jogged toward the house, matching his pace.

Inside, Gaton was sewing ribbons onto Beon’s festival costume, or trying to. He was wrestling with a sleeve, while Beon wrestled on the floor with Rinna. Rinna had curled herself around what looked like one of Arde’s chew toys, and Beon was trying to pry it out of her arms. Mother was reading in a chair next to the fireplace, and Papa was frowning at a ledger.

Beon and Rinna quit wrestling each other the moment they saw Pixit, and they pounced on him. “Sparkly puppy! Wing fixed? Fly now?”

Pixit looked at Mina with plaintive eyes. «Tell them my wing still hurts, please?»

He should have been healed by now. She eyed him with concern—​they’d taken a few trial flights around the house just this morning. He hadn’t complained of any pain then. Does it still hurt?

«Only when your brother chews on it.»

She looked down to see that Beon had stuffed the tip of Pixit’s wing into his mouth.

“Spit it out, Beon,” Mina told him firmly.

He looked startled—​she rarely spoke like that. Pixit, though, couldn’t speak for himself. She was getting better at speaking for him. “But I like how it tickles!” Beon objected.

Mother snapped her book shut. “Beon, you heard your sister. We don’t eat our friends.”

Sadly, Beon spat out the tip of Pixit’s wing.

At least this had drawn everyone’s attention. Mina felt them all looking at her and Pixit, and she wanted to dart outside and find another chore to do.

“Everyone . . .” Mina began. “I, um . . . You know how I was suspended? I want to tell you . . .” She swallowed, as all the words seemed to desert her.

Papa looked up from his ledger.

“It’s all right, Mina,” Mother said gently. “We aren’t angry with you. If anything, we’re angry with ourselves for letting you go, when we knew all along Mytris wasn’t a good fit for you.”

Papa nodded. “We worried about this—​not that we didn’t believe in you, but we worried that you wouldn’t be happy at a lightning school. We worried that they wouldn’t appreciate you. Sweetie, you don’t have to return if you don’t want.”

The kindness in their voices, coupled with their complete misreading of who she was and what she wanted, kept her speechless. She stared at them both. Not return?

Gaton snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous, Papa. She has to finish her training, become a storm guardian, and train until her ‘sparkly puppy’ fizzles out.”