“Come on,” Sero said, unsettled by her inability to calm him. “Let’s go take a walk.” She grasped his hand and led him outside. “Maybe we can move the coop somewhere farther away from the neighbors, so the noise doesn’t reach them?” she offered, as they began walking.

Micah shook his head. “Sometimes I feel like that gladiator who has to run through a gauntlet, you know? Everywhere I turn, there’s another obstacle. When we moved in, it was the oppressive community board not letting us get rid of the citrus trees, can you believe it? That total water-hogging grove, because it had ‘local historical value.’”

“So, what did you do?” Serotina asked.

“I calculated the grotesque amount of water those citrus trees used and I mentioned that I’d spoken to a reporter at the Union-Tribune, who said it would make for an interesting story.” Rancho Paraiso had been in the news the year before as the highest per capita consumer of water in the entire state during the unprecedented drought.

“See?” Serotina smiled at him. “You outsmarted them. And we’ve replaced all that with drought-tolerant plants and drip irrigation, which must translate to half the water usage, or less, right?”

Micah shrugged. “Then, that asshole landlord hounds me relentlessly every time the rent check doesn’t arrive exactly by the first of the month. Can you believe that?” He looked over at her. “I mean, who decided the first of the month is fair anyway? Why should we be forced to pay for the entire month in advance? The rent check always gets there by the end of the month.” Micah shook his head as Serotina tried to think of a response to this. “He’s not very intelligent, that’s the problem. Even after I showed him how the whole solar investment would pay for itself in five years, he didn’t get it. He doesn’t understand sometimes you have to spend money to make money. And there are more important things than money anyway, like taking care of the planet.

“Now,” continued Micah, pointing over the hill to the property fence, “it’s that damn neighbor who doesn’t want us to have our chickens! What does he know, with his gas-guzzler cars and his fancy, wasteful mansion? Two people living alone in an eight-thousand-square-foot, three-million-dollar house, and he’s trying to tell us how to live? We represent the opposite of everything that guy stands for. The Sanctuary houses thirteen people, soon fifteen.”

Serotina wanted to ask about this—her room was the only one in the house with open space—but didn’t want to interrupt. Micah seemed more animated now, his mood lifting.

“The Sanctuary is full of joy and life and warmth. We’ll be water-efficient and carbon-neutral if we could just get rid of all these other obstacles.” Micah stopped on the path. He turned to face her, resting his hands on his hips. “It takes a toll, you know. On me.” He looked down at the earth, kicking it with his shoe. “I know everyone here is counting on me, and my body just absorbs all that responsibility.”