Mother and Papa think they know what’s best for me, Mina thought. But Pixit is what’s best! Her family continued to argue, none of them listening to or paying any attention to Mina.

Taking Pixit’s face in her hands, cupping his cheeks, she looked him in the eyes and said, both out loud and in her mind, “Whatever anyone says, you are not a mistake. You are not a mess to be fixed. You are Pixit, and you are mine and I am yours, forever and ever.”

He purred. «Forever and ever.»

By late afternoon, Mina still hadn’t thought of how to convince her family that there wasn’t anything wrong with Pixit. Ignoring everything she’d tried to say, they’d sent a message balloon to the capital with the morning mail, asking for advice, and they were waiting for a reply.

Watching Pixit eat on the porch, Mina tried not to let any hint of her worry seep out. The trick seemed to be to avoid focusing on anything in particular for long. He heard thoughts that she lingered over, but anything she flitted past was no more than a buzzy whisper.

«You buzz a lot. But it’s okay. Especially if you keep feeding me crunchies.»

They’re called potatoes, she told him. We usually cook them.

«That’s a terrible idea.»

She smiled. Sometimes people like terrible ideas.

He’d already eaten twelve.

Opening behind them, the kitchen door squeaked. “Here, try this,” Mother said to Pixit. She carried a bowl, which she set down on the porch floor. “It’s sugar water. Lightning beasts are supposed to like it.”

He stuck his tongue in. «Mmmmm!» And then he plunged his entire face into the bowl and began slurping up the sugar water, splashing it everywhere.

Laughing, Mina scooted back as water sprayed all over her.

Pixit raised his head out of the bowl. «What did I—​oops.» His fur was sopping wet, and his ears drooped and dripped on the grass.

Also sprayed with sticky sugar water, Mother sighed and then returned to the house, muttering as she went, “This shouldn’t be happening. All wrong.”

Pixit looked sadly after her.

Drink as much as you want as messily as you want, Mina told him, determined to make him feel better. You should have seen the mess Rinna and Beon made when they first started eating. She played through the memories in her mind for him so he could see how they’d spattered oatmeal everywhere. Literally everywhere. Every window had been sprayed with clumps. Every person had had it in their hair. Every pot and pan hanging from the ceiling, every bundle of dried herbs, every jar of applesauce, every pair of boots by the door. Years later, Mother and Papa were still finding chunks of it wedged in between the floorboards in rooms that were nowhere near the kitchen.