“Okay,” Shria said, coming forward up the trail. “Yeah, I’ll help.” Ve stopped in front of Fift, wiped a streak of snot from vir nose with the back of vir wrist, and then reached in, holding the good sticks back with one hand, and pulling the mossy ones out with the other. Ve kept those eyes on the task, but the other two—in the body ve was holding vir pile of sticks with—searched Fift’s face, sizing zir up.

Fift swallowed. Ze kept zir face still, expressionless, but ze could feel the blood rising into zir ears.

“Will they take away the other children, do you think?” Father Frill asked.

“What?” Fift asked. “What other children?”

“Of Fnax cohort,” Smistria said.

The cold dug into Fift’s chests, and not just the ones on the surface. “Like Shria? Why?”

Frill shrugged and smoothed the bright blue-and-orange braids of vir hair with vir hands, releasing another swarm of midges into the air. “It can happen. If their ratings fall enough. If people think they’re doing an inadequate job, that your friend would be better off elsewhere.”

“Ve’s not . . .” Fift began. Ze didn’t really have any Vail friends. It had gotten hard to tell who zir friends were.

Two years ago, ze would have said Umlish was zir friend; they’d played together when they were little. But Umlish was the kind of person who was your friend as long as you did exactly what ze said. When Umlish wrote that poem about Fift’s somatic integration, ze’d tried to laugh along. But after today . . . Umlish would never forgive Fift now.

“They’re starting the campfire, Umlish,” Kimi said. “Should we go back?”

“Or are you playing siblings?” Umlish snapped, ignoring Kimi. “How exciting for you, Fift! A sibling of your own!”

Father Frill cocked vir head to one side and narrowed vir eyes, searching the feed. “Hmm. Ve’s been fighting—your friend. Ve’s a little old for that. By that age, Vails should be learning to keep their fights on the practice mats.” Ve shook vir head. “That’s not good for ratings.”

The hairs on the backs of Fift’s necks stood up. “What would happen if they took Shria away? Away to where?”

Frill shrugged. “Well, the Midwives live at the Pole. If ve’s lucky, perhaps ve’d be trained there . . . as one of them . . .” Ve gestured vaguely. “It’s a great honor.”

Fift could see zir own faces over the feed. Ze looked horrified: one day ze’d come to class and Shria would be gone, taken from vir cohort, forbidden to talk to vir parents, off to the Pole to become a Midwife forever. How many more fights would it take? Could Umlish cause this all by zirself, with zir words? Fift struggled to compose zir expressions into mildness, like Grobbard’s.