Pixit giggled, then snorted as he laughed harder, and it was so infectious that Mina started laughing too.

It felt amazing to be talking with Pixit and feeling all his responses. His delight spilled into her, as sweet as ice cream sliding down her throat. She’d never felt this way before, as if someone heard every word she said—​and every word she didn’t—​and understood. He was tickled by the same things that tickled her, and she could feel that he loved her crazy, loud family just as much as she did.

She replayed even more memories of meals gone terribly wrong, like the chicken that Mother had prepared to cook by chopping its head off—​only to have the headless chicken, its nerves still alive, promptly run under the house. Gross but hilarious. And the time that Papa had cooked an entire stew, simmering it for hours, before discovering that Beon had dropped not one, not two, but six pairs of shoes into the pot. Now every time they had stew, they asked first if it was “shoe stew.”

«I want to try shoe stew!»

Someday, she promised. We’ll both try everything, now that you’re out of your egg.

«And see everywhere?»

Mina felt a twinge, thinking of the worry in her parents’ eyes. But she couldn’t stop the wave of excitement. Yes.

«We’ll see the whole world. Like you’ve always wanted to.»

That was something she’d never said out loud to anyone. Except to Pixit. She’d whispered it to him plenty of times. She wanted to see beyond the farmlands—​to see the raised rivers, the sparkling city, the hills, the lakes, the mountains . . . even beyond the mountains. A frivolous dream, Mother would have said. Who cared about the other side of the mountains—it was full of outsiders! Besides, everything they needed was right here. But ever since Mina had read her first tale of snow guardians exploring the peaks, she’d wondered what, and who, lay on the other side.

How am I going to tell my family that I want more than a life on the farm? They’ll never understand.

Glancing up at the perfect blue sky again, she saw it: high above, a stream of red balloons, each with a basket dangling underneath. From this distance, they looked like polka dots against the blue. A wind guardian led the line, pulling the bit of breeze that propelled the mail across the farmlands. Mina felt as if her heart had leaped into her throat. It’s here!

«Mina, what’s here?»

The afternoon mail!

And maybe the reply from the capital.

She jumped up and ran into the yard. The balloons bobbed above the line of trees that marked the edge of their farm. Shielding her eyes from the sun, Mina watched them dip and rise.