Calling it a "great idea" may have been a stretch. Neither Pipit nor Mallara had any real idea what went into the sale of property. The shop didn't sell for quite as much as they had hoped, and a sizable chunk went to the agent who had helped them.

Over time, to make ends meet, Pipit slowly sold father's possessions and valuables. None of his mother's jewelry or fine linens though. He felt guilty enough hawking his dead father's things; he didn't want to feel like he was taking from his mother. The knighthood, after all, was about giving of himself.

He wished he was perfect at this. But sometimes- when clothing had to be patched for the third time, when the dining chairs broke down and were replaced with two rough wooden stools, or when he had to make do with painfully tight boots- Pipit doubted his decision.

At these times, he would summon his Loftwing and take flight, giving himself time and space to think. Always, he came to the same conclusion. If he had to forfeit some material things on his path to knighthood, so be it.

Then one day a solution presented itself. Pipit ran home to share the news. "Mom, guess what!"

"Oh, Pipit dear," Mallara smiled up at him, "How was your day? You seem excited."

"I am! I was talking to Professor Horwell. Did you know his brother works for the Avian Research Society? They're looking for a part-time assistant to help with their Loftwing Study Program. Professor Horwell knows that I'm really interested in Loftwings- he said he could recommend me for the position. Isn't that great?"

"But what about school?" Mallara asked.

"It'll be fine. Avian Island is just a 30 minute flight from here. I'll go over after school, work for a few hours, and come back at night."

"That sounds exhausting," she said, crinkling her nose. "Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Are you kidding? I'd love the chance to study Loftwings!" Pipit cried. "And get this- it's a paid position. I'll be able to earn money doing it."

His mom patted his cheek, "My, you really are a go-getter. I'm so proud of you."

"Thanks, mom." Pipit walked over to his living area to put his gear away, and then checked the stove. "You made soup," he said, somewhat surprised. Grabbing bowls and spoons, he set the table for dinner. Mallara brought the bread out of the cupboard.

It was light fare- the soup was thin and watery, flavored mainly with the withered vegetables that Pipit had bought at a discount. Still, the bread was filling enough. And when he started that job at the Avian Research Society, buying food wouldn't be such a challenge. Maybe he'd even invite a friend over from school once in a while, if he knew he'd have something to offer them.

"This place could use some attention," Pipit noted suddenly. "Look at how grimy the floor is."

"The floor?" Mallara glanced around them. "Yes, it does keep doing that."

Feeling a twinge of irritation, he asked, "Why don't you try cleaning it? I've heard that helps."

"Oh, I know. I just…" she shrugged. "I didn't feel up to it today. I tire so easily, you know."

"What did you do that wore you out?" Pipit asked.

"I made the soup," she said. "Do you like it?"

He half-heartedly nodded, swirling the spoon in the clear liquid. "You could maybe try doing more than one thing a day, though."

"I'll try," Mallara said agreeably. "But not today. I think I'll go to bed early. If you're staying up, would you be a dear and clean up a bit?"

"Sure, why not?" Pipit said. "I only have homework to finish and an exam to study for; I'm sure I could fit in some housework."

"Wonderful!" Mallara smiled, missing the sarcasm.

"Glad to be of service," he sighed in resignation. "But when I start working, I won't have time to do the cleaning anymore. You're going to need to step up. You can do that, can't you, mom?"

"I'm sure it'll work out," Mallara nodded, excusing herself from the table and leaving her dirty dishes behind.