Lyn was enjoying the day — it felt just like old times. Sitting out in the sun, talking with a friend, regrowing a limb. It was familiar, and comforting in a way. Enjoying chatting with Moira — alone, finally — didn't mean they weren't putting the time to good use, however.

  With a final grunt of effort both physical and mental, they relaxed their efforts at healing and let the reinforcing pattern collapse. “I think that's all I can manage for today, Moira. I'll admit I'm surprised your pattern was effective, but it does seem to catalyze every type of healing to some degree — I don't understand how that's possible.”

  “It's simple. It worked, because I wanted it to.”

  “Don't you go pulling that village mystic route with me — that's my bit.”

  “It is, however, the best non-explanation I can offer at present. At most, I could only speculate on the mechanisms of action involved. All I can say for certain is that I spent a not inconsiderable amount of time and power specifically focused on building a pattern that would aid your efforts at recovery, and this is the result.”

  “Show me again, now that I'm not distracted by pain, if you could be so kind. Just don't empower it, please — I'm already exhausted. And hungry.”

  The arc in Lyn's hand that formed the voice pattern shifted and became two overlapping meshes, of whitish-blue, and blueish-white light. Where they intersected, Lyn had a feeling of… depth, or complexity, greater than the relatively simple individual patterns.

  “If I didn't know you better, I'd ask if you were being serious. My intuition says there is no way that pattern is even sufficiently complex to generate those effects. How much detail is in the lines?”

  “There is some, though not as much as you'd think. The only thing not visible is that the two undulate and slide in space relative to each other constantly — I'm just showing you a moment in time.”

  “That may be important — and I suspect is a capability relatively unique to you. Also, for an entity that sprang forth from computation and calculation, I am always surprised at how little of it you do for tasks like this.”

  “This would be like asking your cells how they know how to effect repairs. Just because I can do it doesn't mean I can inspect the process — merely the outcome.”

  “Well, regardless of the how of it — the results speak for themselves.” Lyn held out their leg for inspection, which now ended in a whole foot. It was still delicate, weak, and painful, but the bone lattice was in place, and it just needed to take up minerals and metals. The musculature would be a few days yet to fill in, but they were almost a week ahead of their anticipated recovery. It wasn't miraculous by any means, and much of the speed was attributable to the high quality food, but usually accelerating the process like this took uninterrupted rest and expert care to avoid a failed regrowth — which could require a re-amputation.

  Given time to analyze and render the improvements into practice, it could decrease recovery times and improve outcomes for Silverpaw, and even other species. Improvements of this magnitude weren't to be taken for granted, even if it would take some time to replicate the effects that Moira could produce. Lyn etched tiny symbols into the metal plates of their journal simultaneously as they conversed, a skill refined over years of practice. Even the encryption came easily now, which allowed for real-time note-taking, instead of relying on fallible memory.

  “Well, hopefully this isn't a skill you'll be forced to get hands-on time practicing.”

  The etching happened with the same hand they used to form the arc for Moira's voice. The other was busy gesturing enthusiastically as they talked. “Oh, come on — that's the best way to learn. Besides, it wouldn't be a year even worth remembering without at least one flight from mysterious ambushers. It's not like the conclave days, when we'd wonder what we were doing wrong if a month went by without someone trying to kill us for disrupting their plans to consolidate power or overthrow some neighboring state or what have you. The wastelands — sorry, the Human lands — just don't have a lot going on.”

  “The Ber'Duun approach to life continues to be fascinating to me; I don't think I'll ever get tired of listening to it — every day is like a story.” Moira's tinny-sounding voice registered excitement — she really did like her stories.

  This last week aside, it was that voice which Lyn had associated with Moira for years. They'd missed it — and also being able to talk to Moira frankly. Though that was as much due to being in constant proximity to others, as needing to avoid overlapping with Nat's aether variant. Lyn wasn't sure how much of a threat to communications security it might be, but there were inherent risks that had to be accepted, and there were unforced errors. Tolerance of the latter had long since been trained out of Lyn.

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  “So you say, but in my experience, your Humans aren't that boring — just the individuals inclined to settle. I'm certain there are Ber that started that way, but in this world nothing survives long if it doesn't keep moving, changing. The current state of things, where even some Ber have started to build cities is a dramatic departure from a history going back far longer than this world has existed. Stagnation is death — life persists only in the flow.” The gesture for the last phrase was satisfying to perform, as always — a cupped palm smothering a raised palm, only for it to escape between the entrapping fingers with a swimming motion.

  “Well, but the daily existence for any given Ber'Duun is wondrous by comparison. The things you are capable of, personally, would require significant infrastructure and investment for Humans, of either world, to replicate.”

  “For us, it's Twosday — when everyone can do something, it's not special. There's a thousand species with more impressive capabilities. We're just lucky we didn't get turned into particularly inefficient bug zappers for gardens — we wouldn't be the first, and we might yet.”

  “I would like nothing more than to ask you to expound on that comment — but there's a visitor, asking for you — a much larger clackaw has returned with the ones from earlier.”

  Lyn started at that, “How much larger?”

  “A little over twice their size, why?”

  Lyn stood and turned to head back to the rock formation. “Very large and we'd all be in for one of those months like the old days. As is, that will just be a female — larger than the juvenile males from earlier, not a broodmother though. Let's go see what they want.”

  “They? I thought you said it was a female?”

  “Clackaw are a society unto themselves, literally. If a female has shown up and the males have returned? The wing — a foraging group — if not the entire flight, will want something. Also, I'll need to close the arc down. It's been good chatting with you though, Moira.”

  “Same, as always. We'll talk more later. I'm always around — as it were.”

  Nat was still somewhat flummoxed by the arrival of a talking bird, asking for tea. Which he'd served. Now they were on to fruit juice — how far away had Lyn gone, anyway?

  It wasn't that he was unused to Ber'Duun, but the ones he met tended to be, well — humanoid — to use a term that might offend some of them. He supposed his limited experience was because Human laws only tended to take other Humans fully into account — and Brin, sometimes. So anyone who knew they wouldn't pass at least as a Brin might easily choose to avoid Human dominant areas, and the lack of exposure would reinforce the problem.

  Nat recognized he was overthinking the whole situation, in his attempt to understand exactly why he was having such a hard time serving a flock of birds — Clackaw — juice. He needed to focus, before he offended them.

  “Lyn's on their way, it will just be a few minutes. Are you enjoying your juice?”

  The speaker, a female if Nat was understanding Lyn's earlier commentary regarding size correctly, raised her beak out of the cup, and threw her head back to swallow. “It's not bad. I prefer cranberry to ressenberry, but that's unlikely to be available locally.”

  “Cranberry? I'm not familiar with it. What's it like, and why wouldn't it be available?”

  “That's surprising — it's originally Ankarran — a Human fruit. Slightly less sweet, with a bitter tang to it — some might say. It's grown in bogs — which requires a cooler climate with a significant amount of standing fresh water.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that's… not here. Where could I get some, if I wanted to try it?”

  She indicated northwards with her beak, “Twelve, maybe thirteen hundred kilometers north, give or take. There are a few areas with glacial melt remaining from the last comet that was brought down in this hemisphere.”

  “So, not the market, then.”

  Nat knew he was flailing at this point, and likely the clackaw did too, as the moment stretched to the point where the lack of response became distinctly uncomfortable.

  Lyn stepped around the coach into the small hollow formed by the rocks. “That meltwater might have to last for the remainder of this era. OMA hasn't signalled a migration in tens of thousands of years and there's no indication they will.”

  “OMA?” Nat was now doubly confused — that wasn't the name they usually used.

  As Lyn walked — gingerly — towards him, something was bothering Nat about it. They stopped and leaned on their cane to continue talking, when Nat figured it out — they were standing on two feet.

  They used one hand to gesture in formal Tradish, the other remained on the cane. “AMA's counterpart — responsible for steering necessary orbital resources to the surface safely. Water, metals, gasses, and of course rock — everything you're looking at, except the Ber themselves, was delivered in this way.”

  “How could that be safe?” He had not caught his thought in time, and had blurted it out.

  This time, it was the clackaw turned to answer him. “Most of the impactors are relatively small, less than a kilometer in diameter — anything larger would be broken up. With a hundred years notice or so, most populations will migrate away from the impact sites. Those that can't, well, AMA is responsible for replenishing them, if deemed necessary.”

  Nat just stared for a minute, trying to imagine the scope of destruction, and utterly failing.

  Lyn was all business, however, “So, I'm told you were asking about a Silverpaw? What did you need?”

  The clackaw had taken on a similar formality as well, compared to the friendly, if awkward tone they'd had up until now. “Interesting. I didn't see anyone run to get you, no fliers, no signals. Yet Nat here knew you were coming, and you know what I was looking for.”

  He wasn't sure, but he thought he'd seen Lyn wince for a moment.

  No response was coming to that statement from Lyn, apparently. The silence stretched on for a solid fifteen seconds, while Nat alternated looking between the two Ber'Duun. Novek had stopped whatever he was doing at some point and was also standing quietly to one side, observing, holding Siya closely, though his paws were kept far from any weapons.

  Whatever bizarre stalemate was going on, the clackaw clearly decided it was less important than what came next. “We are no threat to you. My name is Rezzan. My wing and I seek to hire a healer — a good one, for our broodmother. The matter is urgent, requires utmost secrecy, and is potentially dangerous. No further details will be provided unless the task is accepted. So, silverpaw — is that you?”