Voltaire’s scowl darkened at my approach and Finch jumped to his feet, gesturing frantically. I couldn’t make out what he said. I sat on the log I usually shared with Hosea and asked him to repeat himself. He turned to Fly Man and gestured, huffing loudly.

“He says,” Fly Man translated. “That you woke too late. So you’ll have to go with him to tickle up some fish for Walker before you start.”

“Start what?” Voltaire asked.

“Finch is teaching me acrobatics,” I said. “Yes, Finch, I’ll help. But, what is tickling fish?”

Fly Man giggled, covering his mouth.

“Tickling fish is what we call fishing around here,” Walker explained.

“Uh-uh,” Fly Man said, shaking his head. “I use a pole and Voltaire uses a spear. Only Finch tickles them, Walker,” he corrected. He turned to me and whispered, showing several holes in his teeth. “Only ferals tickle fish.”

Finch gestured again and Walker laughed. “Finch says he ought not have to fish at all today. He says, if Fly Man was any good with a pole, there would be plenty of fish left over from yesterday.” As he translated, Walker handed me a bowl of food. “He sure has that right, little man. Now, hush and eat.”

Chuckling, I looked down at the selection of nuts and wild grain in my lap. It was mixed with dried fruit, and I took my time picking out the combinations I liked best.

After several minutes Finch let out a breath and came to stand over me. I squinted up.

“He says he doesn’t have time for you to eat so slowly,” Fly Man said with a shrug.

“Arika must eat,” William declared, setting his whittling aside.

I looked between him and Finch, both with their arms crossed.

“I’ll take it with me,” I said. “I’ll eat while you fish.”

I ate in handfuls as Finch led me down to the stream. In addition to the food, William had given me a carved wooden canister of water. I uncorked the top and took a long drink, eyeing his handiwork. I’d overheard him say he learned to whittle when he was young, and, miraculously, had never forgotten the skill, despite his many Rebirths.

It was strange to see such a large man wielding a sharp blade so gently. His hands moved quickly, making tiny cuts and angles in the soft wood. His work was unplanned. So, it was impossible to guess what he was making until the moment he finished. Along with my water container, he’d completed a wooden warrior for Fly Man, and a small etching of the five trainees on stumps.

“I wonder how Pidge and Booster are faring,” I said, swallowing the last of my food.

With no one around to translate, I watched Finch closely for his answer.

We can walk by the field if you want, he said. That way, you can have a look for yourself.