It was gray and blustery. The cold wind kicked against the weak warmth of early spring, sending towering columns of dry leaves straight into the air. Seto shivered.

"Here," his mother said, releasing his little hand. She rummaged in the pocket of her green duffle coat and produced a knitted hat. It was green, too. Fitting it over his head, she chided, "We need a haircut."

Seto could barely see out from under his hair, but his ears felt warmer. "Is it too cold for ducks today?" he asked.

"I don't think so," said his mother. She took his hand again, and they continued down the path of trodden earth to the riverfront. "Besides," she added with a wink, patting the satchel on her hip, "we've got something they want."

When they reached the dock, Seto accepted the bag of puffed rice from his mother and clutched it tightly, looking this way and that. Clouds piled over the sun and let slip brief and brilliant rays, as though fairies hid behind them, tossing their fairy dust over the river. Seto joined in, balling up a handful of rice and launching it off the dock in a spirited but rather short-ranged arc. It hit the water with a tinkling sploosh.

Eight seconds passed. Patience was a virtue not yet privy to any five-year-old.

"Where are they?"

"Just wait."

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to obey. The steady, waterfall rush of wind mingled with the distant call of a loon. The rice drifted downstream. He chucked in another handful. There it went, too—floating away, not a care in the world.

It was too hard to hope so strongly for something that wasn't guaranteed to happen.

"Mama," he said, almost tearful with anxiety. "What if they don't come?"

"Don't worry," said his mother, patting his head. She was much taller and could see, over the reeds, that there was no cause for crying. "Listen."

He listened.

From downriver came a tiny, tiny babbling sound, a petite and gentle splashing. Seto followed the sound to where clumps of rice piled against the reeds like foam. As he stared, two yellow tips flashed out and gobbled them up.

"Mama, look!"

The two ducks, soft and stone-colored with white tips on their folded wings, followed the lazy parade line of rice toward the dock. Seto gathered and trembled with excitement and nearly exploded when a third duck, a bit bigger than its fellows, appeared behind them. He frantically threw them more rice.

"Are they a mama duck and baby ducks?" he wanted to know, turning his awestruck face toward his mother.

She laughed, tickled by his enthusiasm. "Maybe!"

"Maybe," he repeated under his breath. The piddling ducks encroached upon the dock: More? Seto obliged them. "Maybe they're two brother ducks."

"Maybe they're two sister ducks."

"Maybe they're brother and sister ducks."

"Cousin ducks?"

It was Seto's turn to laugh. "Ducks don't have cousins!"

He rationed the dwindling rice as best he could, but before too long, Seto's fingertips brushed the powdery bottom of the bag.

"Sorry, ducks," he said, achingly sincere, frowning down at the expectant trio. "That's all I got."

They quacked at him for a minute, until the big (mama?) duck did an about-face and scooted back into the reeds, and the smaller (brother?) ducks followed suit.

"Next time, bring more rice," he said over his shoulder, pouting.

His mother raised an eyebrow and saluted. "Yes, sir."

Seto passed the empty bag to his mother and sat, dangling his feet over the dock's edge. His mother mimicked him, easing herself down.

"So," she said, leaning to bump against him, "if you were a duck, would you rather have a brother duck? Or a sister duck?"

Seto swung his legs back and forth, eyes trained on the spot where the ducks had disappeared. He thought about it. "Well...I guess I would like both," he said. The wind rolled over the river, quickening the current on the surface. Seto snuggled up to his mother, and she folded her arm around him and drew him in.

"But!" he added, realizing its importance as he thought of it and stressing every word, "you have to be a duck, too."

She nodded. "Can do. What about Papa?"

"Him, too."

"Okay then."

Seto's mother took her free hand off her protruding stomach. She reached around and lifted her satchel onto her thighs. "I have something for you," she said.

He perked up. "More rice?"

"No…" She took both his hands and curled them closed over something pointy and heavy. She kissed the top of his head. "I love you, my duckling."

The object was warm, and it warmed his whole body. Seto opened his hands to see what it was. Something shiny that looked like gold. Maybe it was gold.

Ducks didn't eat gold.

PIECE #3: MOTHER

Doctor's Note: *hands you a tissue box* Use sparingly; you're gonna need 'em. Pass me one, too, would you?

Thank you for reading! - Dr. MP