It tumbled as it fell, flashing faintly, rolling in the air, and was quickly lost to sight. But she could hear it still, each clatter as it struck the branches far below. Scattering pieces of itself with every sharp collision. And she was caught, frozen mid-motion, staring after the heavy bit of bark her passing had dislodged. The forest gone eerily silent around her save for the distant drip of water.

Somehow, there was less comfort in the sound than usual.

Trickling down to shatter against the hollow shell set beneath, it elicited a slow, steady rhythm that echoed cavernously through the shifting murk. It seemed almost like an enormous heart: the first beat striking heavy, the second following quickly as the liquid bounced. A faint breeze was the breath of this great beast. It smelled of musky rot and damp, rising as it did from the deep below. Warm and rank, its passing dimmed the glimmer on all sides, and wrinkled Wai’s nose.

Still staring down, body pressed to the wood supporting her, she could see between the gleaming trunks and branches where Sa slept. And as the breeze swept past, and the faded light returned, she peered through that darkness warily. Waiting, still and watchful, wide eyes reflecting twisting patterns until she blinked and there they were.

Lights winking, one by one, into existence. Untethered from the trees, floating in the shadows so far away they were like specks of dust.

“Hama’as Sa. Hama’as.” She barely breathed the words, shrinking back from the edge with a sigh of relief. A breath, but no wakeful stirring, or the lights wouldn’t still be shining. Good. Very good. Let him sleep forever. It was better for the world, that way. And let no one know she still worried over every stray scrap of bark and twig that went spiraling beyond her reach. As though anything so small would even be noticeable to the huge beast lurking below. Ha! There was all of time to keep him dreaming, and nothing had yet awakened him, a bit of bark was hardly going to change that. But now, her fears assuaged, she had trails to keep.

With that galvanizing thought stirring her back into motion, Wai stood and continued her climb. She was following the thick trunk of an Issil tree, taking full advantage of its rough bark and stooped growth to find easy hand and footholds on an efficient diagonal. Of course, the tree was old, and the bark was coming loose in places. So, faster was by no means safer, but she’d learned to test her support well before trusting it. And still hated every breath of tense agony when the bark gave way and she watched it tumble down and down and down. Years, and she still froze every time, heart racing, waiting for ruin to rise up through the branches.

It never did.

Wai usually avoided the problem altogether, taking an alternate, if longer, route. This time though, she had volunteered to check the trails rather than run them, and if she skipped this section for fear, that failure could cost a life. Trees were not static, stagnant statues frozen in time. They grew, changed shape, weakened, died.

Important, then, to pay attention.

She knew this unsurprisingly well, and would have climbed ten times the height she managed if it meant safety, but she was still glad it wasn’t required. It was another relief to haul herself over the arched bole that marked the final stretch and she paused there to listen again. The water dripped, as it should. The air was still. Her breath was loud when she closed her eyes, so she opened them again and looked instead. Close at hand, beneath her fingers, soft moss filled ridges in the bark, lining tiny crevasses where moisture gathered. Pale light limned each edge in long striations, making large shadows on the opposite side of every crack where tiny beetles crawled across the moss. She could feel one climbing over her finger, all scratchy feet and soft, tickling suction as it searched for a meal.

Farther away, a tree flower spread its petals, revealing a bundle of gently waving stamen. They flashed faintly with every shift in direction. The tips, she knew, would be sticky enough to trap even a small bird, if it let the lightshow trick its eyes. She’d watched those dark petals fold in around a poor, foolish quern. Its struggles only speeding the process. She’d seen others dart in before they closed and make off with the meal, carefully avoiding the sticky tendrils. It had taught her a valuable lesson: beyond the villages, it was dangerous to let your guard down. Fear of awaking an ancient beast hid the more immediate threat of having attracted unwanted attention. That was what she listened and looked for now.

A slight rustle turned her head to follow a lizard, leaving a trail of darkened moss in its wake, every pause punctuated by its own glow streaking down its back to disguise where its trail ended. Small head darting forward, it was snapping up the beetles she’d already noticed, wary attentiveness letting her relax. It would not have been nearby if something more dangerous was around. And it scurried swiftly away at the first sign of motion when she swung herself forward to jump to the next wide bole, bare feet landing lightly, picking up the steady momentum she’d lost while climbing.

Much like the lizard, the pressure of her weight on the moss made it react, leaving a trail of dark footprints behind her until it recovered. And, like the lizard, her own skin glowed to cover that darkness, should anything else be watching. It had been a successful camouflage so far. Though it was far from foolproof, and she took advantage of every branch and tangle of vines to obscure her bright silhouette so she didn’t stand out as much against a backdrop of darkness.

Despite her caution, once she’d ascertained that the route was still safe, she moved quickly, pausing only to check vines and rope for wear and tear, or to mark brittle branches with her knife, a deep, thick gouge that was easy to notice even at high speed. Other flowers were opening around her, each sticky tendril the same length as her arm. Their petals made good roofs. Once, she disturbed a family of orn: big-eared, wide-eyed tree hoppers. They leapt out of her way, every one of them making it effortlessly far, and hooting quiet indignation, their dark fur blending into the shadows, and oddly sweet snub-noses hiding a wicked set of chiselled teeth. Thankfully, they didn’t bite unless provoked.

Wai only stopped when she reached the source of the dripping. A large bowl carved into a branch where water often flowed. It went all the way through, and the water emerged from a miniscule hole in the bottom. It dripped onto a tied down and air-filled skin. That was what made the drumming sound. Both a marker for runners, as well as an easy method of finding water. There were many along the running routes, because water did not always follow the same path. It was every runner’s responsibility to see to their up-keep, and, unless urgency dictated otherwise, learn the reason for one falling silent. If it was plugged, that was an easy fix. If the water had stopped flowing, there was little they could do.

But now, after picking out the debris that made it past the covering, she scooped up some of the cool liquid in a little cup and drank gratefully. Easing the lingering dryness of her mouth from her earlier fear. From here, it was an easier run, a gentle descent compared to some and the village wasn’t far away. She’d reach it before she found another water drum. Good incentive to keep on. She might sleep under a roof this time, hanging safely between the branches of the trees, if she made good time.

One more drink, a glance about, and she resettled her pack and continued on.

The low chanting preceded the dawn, but with luck, there would be just enough time. She was almost done.

The light was still low, but luckily the moon was on her side and the dew was still glistening on every surface, meaning her prey could not escape. Usually impossible to spot, the grey light of pre-dawn illuminated the moth white against the black bark beneath it, wings outstretched, waiting for the sun to dry them. It was easily as big as her hand, with a fat, fuzzy body - a perfect morning snack.

In one sudden motion, Linta snatched the moth up by the wing, stuffing it quickly into her pouch lest any of the rest of her catch escape. Finally. It had only taken all night.


The chanting grew louder as more voices joined in, and the first birds began to stir and sing. Pressed for time, she scrambled down the thin tree-top and made her way to the baskets, jumping from branch to swaying branch with urgency. Luckily, she was nearby, and she made it just as the others were beginning to surface above the canopy.

The baskets were set atop the trees, nested tightly in their uppermost branches, with only sky above them. Linta rushed to the one atop her tree, a flurry of motion starkly contrast to the slow approach of her neighbours. Several women had sleeping babies in slings on their backs; elders looked out from their hollows, sending younger climbers up in their stead; there were even some bleary-eyed children, quietly yawning. They all chanted in low voices as they climbed to their baskets to deposit their own offerings.



"Maha'as, Maha'as," Linta whispered breathlessly, in tandem with the rest, "Treyu, Treyu, Maha'as." The chanting grew louder as people made their offerings. She pulled opened the lid of her basket and put her pouch inside, shaking its contents out and quickly - quickly, now - closing the lid. Luckily this time she'd been quick enough, and none of her offerings had managed to escape. The basket lid, woven from the skinny dried leaves of wicker vines, had rather wide gaps between fibres. Still, they'd been constructed carefully, meaning that the gaps were wide enough for the tips of Treyu bills to pass through without issue, but not quite large enough for the offerings within - certain, special insects - to wriggle out.

She wound the closing-cord tightly around the handle of the basket, securing it in place, before retreating and slinking down the tree once more. "Maha'as. Maha'as. Treyu, Treyu, Maha'as."

The chanting softened once more as the offerings were completed, fading into silence just as the chorus of waking birds rose to meet it. With that, the day could begin.



The sun was higher in the sky when Linta emerged from her hollow for the second time; not afternoon yet, but well into the morning. Once again she was grateful to her past self for choosing a spot so far from the canopy. In her family's hollow, her eyes would have been stabbed by the light as soon as she emerged, but only a few direct rays managed to reach this far down. Still, she had to blink several times to adjust to the sudden light when she opened her curtain.

Unsteady from sleep, she spent a few minutes sat on the edge of her hollow before heading out. She used the time to observe the activity above her: people walking here and there along the dozens of ropes criss-crossing the trees, or climbing up and down the mighty trunks. She saw people with wide baskets on their heads, children bouncing on slack lines, even a couple whose front-most member kept up the conversation by walking backwards. They all looked strikingly like ants marching along thin branches.

Before leaving, Linta closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The morning chill had not quite gone, she could feel the cold dampness on her skin and the cool air felt clean in her lungs. Distant conversations floated down between the trees like the chattering of birds, punctuated by the occasional shout or shriek of laughter. A gentle breeze whispered through the leaves, caressing every villager with motherly gentleness. The tree itself vibrated near-imperceptibly as people climbed above.

As soon as she opened them, her eyes were pulled down, first to her feet swinging off the hollow's edge, then down, down, endlessly down to where the tree trunks faded into blackness. Unlike the view above, Linta's view below was uninterrupted by tightropes or hollows. Looking down, she could have been the only person in those trees. She'd always been told never to look down, but from the first time she'd done it, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

Newly refreshed, Linta stood up, stretched, and took to the trunk. She'd carved hand and footholds into the wood when she'd started carving out her hollow, but she rarely needed to use them. The bark of these trees was thick and strong, with cracks deep enough to easily hold onto. She had to climb a short distance to reach the first rope, which was the beginning (or end, she supposed) of the criss-cross of lines that connected the village. Once there, she took off across. She had always been faster on the lines than climbing anyway.

It was not long before Wai saw the heavy, hanging homes of her destination blotting out the glow of branches behind them. In the distance, hanging still and outlined with the faintest sheen of reflected light, they seemed like droplets of water caught at the end of a thread. Suspended mid-motion. A tranquil, familiar sight drawing her in.

She let it. Barely slowing her pace until she could make out the irregular undulations on the woven surface of the closest; bounding forward along the thicker trunks and bouncing off the smaller, leaping casually over the abyss and swinging across larger gaps as she trusted her earlier appraisal of the path here. Only when she saw a splash of brightness on one well wedged deadfall did she pause, dropping into a sudden crouch and slipping sideways into the light beneath the log, its rotten wood an easy source of nutrients for the mushrooms sprouting along its length and illuminating a tiny, disintegrating world. Half hidden by the glow on her skin and half by the slant of the log, Wai took her time unwinding the slender cord at her hip as she caught her breath.

Working by touch alone to pull the line free from her belt, she used her eyes for other things, searching out signs of activity, and watching a single spot of light climbing idly upwards as though through thin air. She knew they were on an anchor line, but it was invisible this far away, so the villager seemed to float, making funny motions mid-air that she could only compare to a lizard caught in a waterbowl. Except, of course, that the lizard would have been flailing madly or floating serenely and had much shorter legs. Still… She swallowed her amusement before it could escape as noise and finally felt the knot give way so she could bring the silk thread to the front, checking the knots attaching it to the carved bit of bone, just in case. The string’s length was a good few feet, but she kept it mostly coiled, even after ascertaining that everything was in order, simply dropping the bone and flicking her wrist so that it turned a rapid circle around her hand. Careful not to hit the wood around her, she spun it faster as its edges caught the air, making it thrum out a high note.

It reverberated in her bones and swept through the darkness all around. The climber paused in the distance when the sound reached them, though not for long, apparently uninterested in possible news.

Sooner than she’d expected, another answered her, twin-toned and warbling slightly. It was the official proof that she’d been heard and was welcome, also, that she wasn’t about to walk into disaster, though the calm climber she was looking at made that last mostly redundant. So, routine custom satisfied, she didn’t hesitate any longer, and with an accomplished twitch of her tail stood and set off again. Paying more attention to how she tucked the huewri back on her belt than where she set her feet, Wai was slower in her approach. There was no reason to rush, though she was wondering why the welcome had come so quickly. She was waiting to hear the reason, thinking that someone had to have had that huewri in hand before she’d called out, so she was not surprised when its voice came again, warbling dual notes lower this time, before she was even ten steps closer.

Head tilting, she went still to listen: one long, low groan followed by a breath of staccato whirring. That sound always made her think of hiccups…

It was a general summons. Not for her though, as she wasn’t a part of this village, and she weighed the idea of sleeping now against satisfying her curiousity before giving in. Her plan to slip in, find a bed, find a meal, and slip out wasn’t exactly inflexible. She had time to deviate since she wasn’t carrying any package or news to be delivered, and it was a Runner’s right to sit in on any, well, almost any, meeting they might like to, provided they knew how to keep their opinions to themselves. Wai had never had to worry about that, she was better at listening than talking anyway. So, as soon as her huewri was securely fastened again, up she went, strong fingers and toes catching at the slightest hold with practiced ease. She was no orn though, the effort was more of a graceless scramble than anything, though it did the trick.

The high platform, suspended on long poles stuck into the trees on every side, was her destination. It was a regular gathering point, and every village she’d ever visited had one, with a row or two of specialized huewru carefully coiled and hung from the rafters, neat and organized and ready for use beneath an arched roof of resh petals that kept off some of the damp. Now, seeing the small group of people who’d arrived before her, she stepped carefully across the supporting poles to duck under the overhang and tuck herself into an unoccupied corner while they awaited the stragglers.

Looking around, there were a few she recognized, though even fewer that she could name, and one pride straightened fellow next to the elder just finishing hanging up the huewri he’d used to call them here. She could see the nerves in his twitching tail, the tip unfortunately bright enough to attract attention. Young, she thought, though his shoulders were well filled out and he was likely taller than her. Chances were good that he had been alive longer than she had, though by how much, neither would be able to count. There was no sign of trouble or concern amongst the others, in fact, she caught a few surreptitious glances of amusement between the older generation and encouraging gestures from the younger. But that tail…

She felt a sympathetic buoyancy spreading in her stomach as she guessed at the reason for this gathering, remembering her own steps from apprentice to peer. The nervous delight of all her effort being acknowledged even as she worried that it wasn’t enough, that she’d never know enough. But, of course, she’d had a good mentor, and her fears had been unfounded. By the satisfied curl of the elder’s tail, as well as the happy squinting of rheumy eyes, Wai was certain he would be no different.

It started well. The elder, Peya, she thought his name was, raising his arms high to catch attention. It worked better than shouting, silhouetted as he was against the dark overhang of resh petals, and Wai was sure she wasn’t the only one to catch her breath in anticipation. The quiet came almost immediately, and into that expectant pause, Peya’s raspy voice was more than audible, asking them to see the man before them who had once been a child among them. It was a set speech, rote, routine, formal, though different exact words than she thought her own mentor had used. But it was the message that mattered most. She was happy to be a witness to his growth. Glad for his accomplishments.

She was impressed by the fine hammock he’d woven as proof of his skill and, apparently, as a gift of gratitude for the patience Peya had shown him. Ha, so, he was older! Though she supposed the missing forearm might have something to do with the required patience. It could not be easy having to find new methods to cope with a missing hand. He’d be a good weaver, regardless, it seemed, and she raised her voice in welcome along with the others, inviting him to step into the circle they made on the platform so they could give him their first long look adult to adult.

However, happy for this Iln though she was, he remained a stranger, and Wai would have been hard-pressed to deny that she was more pleased with the good timing that saw her arriving before a celebratory feast than with the chance to watch him receive his whiskers. And she sat impatiently through the rest of the ceremony as another woman carefully cut into Iln’s cheeks the same diagonal lines most of them wore. She couldn’t stop thinking about the meal sure to come.

It was a short trip from Linta's tree to her mother's - only a short upward climb and two tightropes away - and she made it there in good time, traversing the ropes with ease. She didn't bother announcing her arrival before she pushed through the barrier of woven willow curtain that closed off her mother's hollow; she could already smell their usual tea brewing inside. She entered just as her mother was settling for their daily meeting.

"You were late this morning," her mother joked when she entered, gingerly arranging her legs beneath her, "I saw you scrambling to get in your offering in time."

"Hush you," Linta chastised in return, unceremoniously plopping herself down opposite her mother, "I bet my offering was better than yours anyway."

Her mother laughed quietly, pulling a fur blanket over her crossed legs while Linta busied herself with serving the tea.

It was very warm in her mother's hollow, with a fire steadily burning in the brazier in the wall and her tightly woven curtain doing a good job of keeping the draft out. It was a little too warm for Linta, who pulled at the collar of her tunic to let some air in, but her mother sat right in front of the fire on the little nest of mats and furs that made up her bed. Her mother wasn't too old, but she had painful joints that ached in the cold, and even though the autumn chill had only just started, it was already starting to bother her.

Linta retrieved a squat wooden tray from a recessed shelf in the wall, a thick rectangular slab with indents in the sides that acted as handles and palm-sized divots in the surface. From the same shelf she retrieved a bowl of carefully hollowed out eggshells, the round bottoms of which fit snugly into the tray. From the bowl she selected two shells, one light blue with brown speckling and the other dark green with a spray of tiny black dots, and set them out on the tray to be filled.

The tea, which had been brewed in a much larger and thicker eggshell kettle (arguably the most valuable possession in anyone's hollow) was a clear light green, like tinted water. It was, however, much more potent than it looked, and the smell, sharp and herbal, filled the hollow as she poured.

When she was done, she placed the kettle back on its little wooden stand (an indented block much like the tray, but larger) and handed her mother the brown shell, keeping the blue one for herself. Her mother sipped hers immediately while Linta set about sweetening her own with honey.

"Did Orik drop by yet today?" Linta asked, not looking up from the stream of honey she was carefully measuring.

"Oh yes," her mother replied, "Brought another packet of medicine too."

"Oh really, how is it working?" Linta asked.

"Like a blessing," her mother sighed, rubbing one of her knees, "This one hasn't complained at all today."

Linta smiled. Her cousin Orik, son to her late father's sister, had been bringing her mother a new medicine recently. Something his own mother, an established ersha, had been working on to try and alleviate joint pain. It was made from rare components, so her mother was lucky to be able to test it.

Linta stayed for a little while, finishing her tea and chatting as they did every day. Of course, it was only a matter of time before her mother brought up the only topic anyone who knew her had in mind.

"So, have you had any luck in your search?"

Linta stifled a groan, opting instead for a heavy exhale. Impulsively she gathered the end of her tail in her lap, fiddling with the feathers and beads that decorated it.

"No luck yet," she admitted.

Her mother's eyes softened. "Oh come now, it's not the end of the world," she cooed, "You'll find your ari in due time."

"I just don't understand," Linta sighed, "I thought I've done everything right, but the spirits don't seem to agree."

"Hush," her mother scolded gently, "Don't think like that. You'll find one when your time comes."

Linta nodded down at her tail, and her mother pulled her into a hug. She knew this was a touchy subject for her. She was more than old enough now, having left home and carved her own hollow (a good one, she thought) and having, she thought, taken on her adult responsibilities. She did what was asked of her by her elders, she contributed her share to the food stocks and if she was needed elsewhere, she would go. She hadn't found a specialty yet, fine, but lots of people determined that after finding their ari. She didn't know why the treyu didn't think she was ready for adulthood yet. What more could she do?

"You know what?" Linta's mother finally mentioned, "Orik told me Mara might be looking for some help with collecting materials. Maybe you should help her!"

Linta didn't hesitate. "Of course," she offered, "I'm always willing to help Aunt Mara."

"Good," her mother laughed, "Because you know how Orik can be. He means well, but I can't imagine he'll be a huge help when he gets over to the west tree..."

They both laughed. It was true, Orik was sweet but had a habit of getting distracted, especially when a certain black-haired Canopy girl came into the mix.

"Besides," Linta's mother added coyly, "You'll have to look pretty deep into the foliage and around the village borders. You never know what you'll find..."



It was nearing noon when Linta finally left her mother's hollow, making her way across the criss-cross of tightropes to the south tree in search of her aunt. When she got there, Mara was glad for her offer of help and handed her a few pouches and a list of what she was to gather and sent her on her way.

Her gathering mission took Linta into the canopy on the edges of the village, where the foliage was thicker owing to the reduced traffic. All manner of plant life lived up here, from little vines taking advantage of the sunlight to the leaves of the mighty trees themselves. Linta was a skilled climber and navigated the thin branches with ease, bouncing occasionally from one to the other, relishing each instant of suspension over the endless drop below. She did a pretty good job of finding the items her aunt requested of her - bark from this vine, nectar from that flower, buds from this plant, etc. - but kept a sharp eye out all the while for the streak of brilliant white and blue that would signify her transition to adulthood. It never did come, but when her pouches were full and she was turning back home, she noticed something comparatively interesting.

It was a nest, a very large one, settled into the tallest branches of that particular tree (though it was almost impossible to tell which branches belonged to what trees), with three shining black eggs nestled neatly in it, each about the size of Linta's head. It was a Qian nest, the enormous predatory birds that occasionally worked up the gall to try and carry off children before they were driven away by the Canopy garrison. Needless to say, the presence of a nest here, so close to the village, was a serious problem.

However, those eggs were a valuable commodity in the village. Their shells were especially thick, and they were what everyone's kettles and cooking pots were made of.

Unfortunately, as Linta determined when she was getting ready to raid the nest, she had no bags on her large enough to hold the eggs, and running through the branches with your arms full was a death wish. Still, she didn't want to waste this opportunity.

If she couldn't take the eggs home, she could at least hang on to the memory. Pulling her journal out of a pocket on her leg, she settled herself somewhat comfortably between two branches, pulled out a charred wooden stick and started sketching.

Within about ten minutes she had a good sketch going of most of the nest and was starting on the eggs when a shadow passed over her. She froze. Her heartbeat filled her ears.

The shadow passed over her again, and a huge mass of brown feathers filled her view. She felt the buffeting of air on her face as the bird flapped around the nest. Panicking, Linta threw her journal at the beast and scrambled down under the canopy where the qian couldn't reach her, rushing through the branches and back to the village, straight to the garrison to report the bird. She'd gone further out of the village than she had thought, but she made it back in time for the garrison to dispatch. The screeching she heard in the few minutes that followed told her the garrison had taken care of the threat.

Hopeful assumptions having proved less than adequate compared with the actual feast that had been gathered, Wai was feeling heavy as she made her ponderous way down the tree. It was not rare to have a feast; they were the standard of celebration. Everyone felt better with a full belly. The size, however, and sheer amount of variety told her both that this village was doing particularly well for itself, and that Iln was a well-loved member of the community. Whether his family was connected to the organization of food or he was good friends with the hunters, they’d clearly put in extra effort.

And Wai’d reaped the benefits. She was glad he had so much support, pleased to see such strong proof that everyone was happy for him, while she was happy for herself and her lucky arrival. She’d tucked in immediately, along with everyone else, as soon as the last dish bearer had joined the circle. It wasn’t every day she got to eat cultivated mushrooms—a specialty in these parts—or taste the mixture of salty sharpness that was fat grubs and tiny ants popping between her teeth. Every village had their own variety of insects to pick from, though there were several constants: like the pudgy he’im larvae that could be found under almost any bark. Ants, too, were not uncommon, though she’d discovered that even the same species could change its flavor depending on where she found them. Hard-shelled beetles and spiders with soft flesh and unappetizing discouragement expertly taken apart so that she couldn’t find even a hint of the noxious spray or unpleasant barbs to mar the flavor. Then, of course, there’d been the fermented meats, some lizard and orn mixed with their own spices and the sweet sour thickness remained on her tongue even now.

She’d washed it all down with a heady mouthful of behsa, and its potency was the primary reason for her cautious descent, rather than the weight of a full meal. Though she did have to pause briefly to grit her teeth against an escaping yawn. It wasn’t a dizziness so much as a carefree exhilaration that overwhelmed good sense. Made it far easier to set a foot wrong or grab empty air. No one ever had more than a mouthful if they were planning on moving at all afterwards. The best way to enjoy behsa was setting up a hammock and indulging in a jar between sleeps, but she didn’t have the luxury. So, she’d simply tucked away some of the truffles and hard fruits in her belt pouch to eat later and left after a quick congratulations to Iln once she’d finished eating her fill.

Chances were good some would still be partaking when she woke up later, whether they were those who’d missed the ceremony, or those simply enjoying an extended break from whatever they’d been doing, Wai never had the energy to keep up that much good cheer. For now, she could only climb slowly to the lower branches twined beneath the floating village hall to where the home nests hung on long, strong vines carefully braided together and constantly tested for wear and tear. From above, they looked less like fanciful water droplets and more like shadowy blobs, but familiar enough. Her destination was the cluster of three hanging somewhat separate from the rest, reserved for Runners. When she reached them, she plucked the farthest rope first, feeling the vibrations fade and waiting a while before supposing no one was using it. Or they were sleeping very soundly…

Eyeing the distance she’d have to climb down and back up if that was the case, Wai sighed and finally just snuffed out a short breath through her nose. She could always sleep on the floor. And with that encouraging notion to buoy her along, she leaned idly down, catching onto the first loop braided into the long line and then going down hand over hand in a faster descent than her mother would ever have allowed. The wide loops made it easy, the swaying her movement caused, and the open space beneath her made it rather more foolhardy than could be entirely blamed on the behsa, and she landed with a hollow thwump on the rounded roof of the nest. Hanging on with a little smile and tense thrill curling her tail as it bounced and jolted into harsh rocking underneath her feet. Nests weren’t toys, her mother had often admonished, but with no one watching, she hadn’t been able to resist a little fun.

While she regained her breath and waited for the nest to stop swinging so she could climb inside, Wai stared up at the spirals above her head, they were turning slowly, or, she was, rather, though it felt like it should have been harder to tell. She could see the dark spot of the village hall overhead, set between the branches, its silhouette comfortingly protective and spinning too. That made her snort again. Halls did not spin. They were very firmly anchored. But the illusion was strangely alluring all the same. Like it was floating on its own. And with the haloing glow of the feastgoers reflecting off the eaves, it did seem oddly surreal. Pretty, but hardly going to help her sleep. She shook her head at herself and slipped, with more usual care, down the side of the nest and through the hanging moss covering the entrance.

As she’d expected, there was no one else within, so the dark was suddenly more absolute. She was the only light illuminating a simple space. The glow of her skin shadowing the interior in faded blue softness. There was little enough to see, the only personal touch was the weaving method, marking differences between here and there, rather than who was living in it. Only the smooth creak and give of the vines beneath her feet gave it a lived in quality, the hanging hammock clearly well weathered, supporting edges polished by passing hands and bodies so that they reflected the light that little bit more brightly.

Wai moved more by memory than sight, pulling off her belt pouch to hang it on a double pronged wooden hook, her huewri was left to hang from the other side. And then she tumbled gracelessly into the hammock, humming satisfaction to be off her feet and out of the light, tucked away in the quiet and rocked to sleep. For a while, she stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the absence of defined shapes and solidity of empty space rather than being able to see the thin dome above her. She didn’t even notice when her eyes slipped shut. The view never changed…