A second wind guardian darted forward and sent a gust of wind toward one balloon. It split from the others and drifted toward the neighboring farm. Mina waited, trying to be patient, as the line of balloons drifted closer.

It was very, very hard to be patient when one of those balloons could be holding the fate of her dreams.

Shoved by its own stream of wind, a single balloon drifted over their fields, across the newly seeded third-harvest wheat, above the shoulder-high cornstalks, bobbing and weaving in its one finger of wind, and then dipping to land ever so gently in their yard, by a swing that hung from a tall oak tree. The balloon was made of cotton, bright red to stand out against the sky, and it carried a pouch beneath it. Mina ran to it.

Dropping to her knees in the grass beside it, Mina began to untie the pouch. Her fingers were shaking so hard that it took her two tries. She then lifted the balloon above her head as she’d seen her parents do.

A little dancing breeze scooped the balloon out of her hands, and she watched it fly up, back into the stream of messages with the two wind guardians. She waved to them, and they waved back.

As they flew out of sight, she dared at last to look down at the pouch in her hand. Her mouth felt dry, and she swallowed hard.

She should take it in to her parents and let them open it. But it’s about me. My future. My life. And Pixit’s! And sure enough, her name was on the outside: Mina Yellowfield, Farm 283, East Islin, Alorria, written in neat gold letters.

«Open it,» Pixit encouraged her, loud in her head.

Jumping, she glanced over her shoulder. He’d come up to her silently, his cheeks bulging with unchewed potatoes. But they’re waiting for this.

«It’s about us and our future and our dreams, right?»

Mina wondered how hard she’d been thinking that thought.

«Very hard.» He stuck his nose over her shoulder. «Go on.»

He chewed loudly.

Hands shaking, she took the letter out. It was sealed with a dot of resin. She ran her fingertips over the bump. What if it said her parents were right and she shouldn’t be bonded to Pixit? What if it said she’d done something wrong while he was in his egg?

«We belong together. Never doubt that.»

She didn’t! Not for a second! But her family . . .

«Just open it, Mina.»

Sitting on the grass, Mina broke the resin seal and unfolded the letter. Two other pieces of paper fell out of the folds: tickets. River-ship tickets. Did that mean . . . ? Her heart was pounding, and she heard roaring in her ears.

«Mina? Are you okay?» Pixit nuzzled her hair with his snout. «What’s wrong? Your thoughts are all jumbly. I can’t tell if you’re happy or sad.»