"I cannot believe I ever consented to this madness!"

Galen blew on his tea and studiously avoided looking up. "It wasn't your decision, Zana. You have nothing to reproach yourself for."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "I cannot believe that you ever consented to this! The poor girl almost died!"

Galen set down his cup with a sigh and met Zana's gaze. To his surprise, she wasn't hurling one of her death glares at him; instead, he saw tears in her eyes. He swallowed the exasperated rebuke sitting on his tongue.

"But she didn't die," he said gently. "And the whole band of frauds and scammers broke down their tents and vanished overnight! A lot of lives were saved, and none were harmed."

"It was an unacceptable risk," Zana insisted. "That you — or Incan, rather — got off lucky doesn't change a thing about that!"

"Maybe," Galen admitted. He put his elbows on the table and squared Zana with a calm gaze. The time had come to announce some uncomfortable truths.

"I did know that there were risks involved," he began. "And I also knew what consequences I was risking if I did nothing — if we had folded up our tents and ran away into the badlands: a lot more humans could've died, and a lot of livestock, too. Heron and Zolon would've continued to shift the blame on the owners, just as you had witnessed him doing with Zaylissa, and, people being people, enough apes would've believed him to drive a deep chasm through the town... through the whole district. They were evil, Zana. Don't think evil has to wear a black uniform!"

He half expected her to interrupt him, but she was just staring at him, lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes now swimming in tears. Galen felt sorry for her, but he wasn't finished yet.

"I used a human to drive them out of town, and I endangered that human's life in the process," he said, and to his own surprise, he felt bad; as if he had shrunk somehow, and become less of himself. "I know that makes me one of those apes you despise, and I'm afraid you're right about that... and I... I feel truly awful about it. But I saw no other way. I am very, very glad that Incan is alive and well. I hope I'll never find myself in a situation again where I'll have to make this choice. Once in a lifetime is more than enough."

"But if you found yourself in such a situation again, you would make the same choice," Zana said softly. She looked down at her plate and wiped at her eyes.

"What would you have done?" Galen wanted to know. He said it without ire; maybe there was a better way.

But Zana said nothing, and after a moment, not knowing what to do with himself or the loaded silence, Galen reached for his tea again.

A loud knock at the door stalled his hand. "I'll take it," he said and rose, relieved to have a reason to flee from the table.

The young guard had his hand raised for another knock when Galen opened the door, but stepped back immediately. Galen looked behind him and felt his brows rise in surprise at the rider in the street: it was Voltis, looking down at him from his horse with a faint smile.

"Good morning, doctor," the District Chief greeted him. "I'm somewhat surprised to see you here. Aren't you supposed to be making your rounds out in the prefecture today?"

"My assistant was considerate enough to take over that duty for today," Galen informed him. "Since I was sitting with a patient late into the night."

"Ah, yes," Voltis said, the sardonic smile widening. "A rather spectacular case, or so I've heard."

"The patient has completely recovered," not that you were asking.

Voltis raised his brows. "That's not what I've heard."

"What... what do you mean?" Galen stuttered.

" Vetya Zaylissa joined me for breakfast this morning" — there was the slightest hint that the matron had done so without an invitation — "to inform me that her breeding human had not woken up this morning. Apparently, the human's heart had stopped during the night. She was already cold when the vetya found her."

A lifetime ago, Urko had thrown an ancient human explosive into the midst of Alan's and Peet's hearing before the Council to demonstrate the need for their immediate extermination. Galen had sat in the audience of that meeting, and had suffered temporary deafness after the weapon had gone off.

He felt the same ringing silence now, not in his ears, but deep in his skull. He wasn't able to form a thought, let alone words.

"She didn't call me," he murmured when the sensation finally subsided.

"She probably assumed that you wouldn't be able to bring her human back after such a long time," Voltis said with a shrug. "In fact, she holds you responsible for the loss of her capital. It seems she had plans with that human."

"M... me?"

Galen's brain still refused to grasp the information it had just been given. Incan had died... hours after she had apparently recovered from Hamez' drug. Galen had given her a thorough examination that evening, and everything — everything — had been fine. Everything. She had even eaten something.

And now she was dead. How could she be dead?

Voltis took up the reins to turn his horse around, then stopped as if a thought had just occurred to him. "If you would want to accept my advice: you might want to hire a lawyer. Zaylissa will bring this to court, if just for the attention it will garner her.

"Oh, and — I'm leading a bushcat hunt each fall; are you interested in joining us this year?"

Galen, still staggering under the avalance of catastrophic news, forced out something like a grateful acceptance, though he couldn't say if it was for the legal advice or the invitation.

Voltis nodded at him and finally turned his his horse around; Galen grabbed the doorpost, feeling weak in the knees.

The Chief wasn't finished yet, though. He turned around in the saddle, and Galen steeled himself for the final, devastating blow.

But Voltis just said, "The Club has reinstated you as a member in good standing. In case they hadn't told you yet," before he finally took off. Galen stared after him, idly wondering where he was headed to on horseback that early in the day. He didn't feel able to contemplate the other things the Chief had just dropped at his feet.

One thought forced itself to the forefront of his mind, blowing past all attempts to distract himself with musings about the Chief's destination, or his curious invitation to join him for the annual bushcat hunt.

How am I ever going to tell Zana?

... but when Galen returned to the dining room, she was gone.

Zana had thought that lugging water cans up and down the rows of vegetables (she had learned their names in the meantime: beans and cucumbers, tomatos and peppers) would be a way to do penance; the cans were heavy, and the sun was as scorching and blinding as ever.

Instead, she felt outright serene. The gardens weren't much frequented, except by the humans who weeded and watered the beds, but they left Zana alone in the quarter she had unintentionally staked out for herself. Currently, nobody was nearby; the only sounds were the beans' leaves whispering in the soft breeze, the gurgling and soft patter of water as she emptied the cans into the soil, and the clopping sounds of Eivas' crew as they finished up the roof of the greenhouse.

Boy was with them, which was one reason Zana kept her distance. It was not just because the young human kept close to Eivas, watching the other young males working and occasionally dragging a beam here and there, although that would've been sufficient reason to step back and let that new dynamic unfold on its own.

But Zana stayed hidden behind the bean trellises mostly because she was too ashamed to face him. Last night, when the sudden slew of accusations and stories of the Wonder Elixir failing to work had escalated into an outright brawl, she had lost sight of Boy in the chaos and the murky light of dusk. She had assumed that he had run back to the shelter... but what if he had run into the woods in his panic? The thought had kept her awake all night.

And it had been a long night, full of uncomfortable realizations. She had been filled with good intentions when she had accepted this 'special assignment' from Zorya; she had fancied herself returning to her old profession as a behavioral scientist, even if only in the secrecy of her own mind. She had told herself that she was helping Boy the way she had always promised herself to help Peet, and later, Alan, but had put that off until it had been too late.

What had happened instead was that Boy had first injured his arm, then had been pushed into reliving some traumatic memory, and finally, had been put — by her — into a highly stressful situation where he had been forced to serve the needs of an ape, and that ape would be you, Zana, even though he had been scared out of his mind.

She had hurt this human, over and over again; and the worst of it was, she had hurt him for selfish reasons: she had used him to feel useful again, to restore her old status as a scientist, to fill her need for having a human friend like Peet again... a friend, or a pet?... and finally, she had used him to help Galen in his feud with another ape.

And then she had lashed out at Galen over breakfast, as if it had been his fault that she had become his accomplice. Yes, he had used Incan, but had she been any better?

Zana dropped the empty can and let her gaze drift down the rows of beans to the far end of the garden, where the wooden beams of the greenhouse peeked through the greenery. She hadn't known where else to go; the garden had become her sanctuary when the townhouse was getting too suffocating.

"There you are, Mila!"

Zana turned around to see Zorya walking down the path towards her. The Orangutan was wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat similar to the one Zana had; but on Zorya, it looked elegant: a white hat with a purple hatband fluttering over her shoulder, matching her purple robe.

Zana tugged at her own hat that had threatened to slip from her head again, and wished to be anywhere else.

"Eivas told me that they will be done with the framework today," Zorya said when she reached her. "So of course I had to come and have a look myself. They were incredibly fast."

"It's not a big greenhouse," Zana murmured.

Zorya took her elbow, and gently steered her down the path towards the well. "It's still impressive, especially considering the help you had." She meaningfully nodded towards Boy, who was still oiling the beams while the other males milled about the well, drinking water and pouring buckets of it over their heads. Even Eivas must've dunked his head into the bucket; his white hair was dark and sticking to his skull.

He came over to them and bowed. "It's finished, vetyana." He proudly gestured towards the construction.

"Well done, Eivas," Zorya said warmly. "That's an impressive piece of work."

Eivas bowed again, glowing with pleasure. "Thank you, vetya."

"And I see that Boy worked together with your team?" Zorya prompted. She nodded towards the construction, where the human was still wielding his oily brush.

Eivas rubbed his wet hair. "Oh, he did, he did. Doesn't talk much, though." He chuckled.

Zorya smiled. "Still, he's never joined in a group activity before." She turned to Zana. "You've made incredible progress with him, Mila."

"Thank you," Zana murmured, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Boy still carried his injured arm in a sling, a vivid reminder, if she had needed one, that the progress Zorya had lauded had come with some serious side effects. But she couldn't very well tell the director that she felt she had done more harm than good, could she?

Eivas and his crew left soon thereafter, headed for their evening meal at the community hall, but Eivas' invitation to Boy to join them was roundly ignored; Boy had found his calling in oiling every single beam, apparently, and didn't look as if he'd stop before he'd done them all.

"What are your plans for it, once the screens have been installed?" Zorya inquired. "Are you still determined to cultivate opers up here?"

"Not without glass panels," Zana said dejectedly. "And you were right, they're prohibitively expensive."

"Aw, don't be sad." Zorya patted her arm. "Tell you what, we're having our yearly charity in the fall. If you can think of something to offer to our sponsors, I'll dedicate a percentage of the donations to your greenhouse project." She winked at Zana. "That means the more money we get, the bigger your share for those glass panels will be."

Zana blinked. "I... that's very generous of you, Zorya. I'll try to think of something."

"There's still ample time to come up with something new and exciting." Zorya adjusted her hat. "I can't wait to hear your ideas, Mila. You're such a breath of fresh air. See you tomorrow."

Zana waved after her. "Until tomorrow." She wasn't sure if she'd be at the shelter tomorrow... though she'd probably had to be, to oversee the installation of the fabric screens, those unloved substitutes for the glass panels she coveted.

And there was yet another reason why she wasn't keen on returning.

Yes, the reason is you're a coward, Zana. Remember Delia? You never apologized to her for what you did to her, and to her parents.

She glanced at Boy, still stubbornly oiling the beams.

Then she went to find a brush.

The oil had the color and texture of honey, but unfortunately, not the smell — someone had added something with a citrus note in an attempt to conceal the oil's actual scent, but that had made the result only worse. Zana held her breath every time she had to dunk in the brush, and breathed through her mouth the rest of the time. It was vile enough to keep her mind distracted from her actual intention for a good while.

She and Boy had fallen into a rhythm similar to the one they had developed for watering the vegetable beds: whenever one of them had to get some oil from the bucket, the other was conveniently busy spreading their scoop on a wood beam. For a long while, they were able to keep their distance that way, each of them tending to a row of beams at opposite ends of the scaffold.

Over time, though, their cycles synchronized; the time between one of them dunking the brush into the oil, and then the other following suit, shrunk until Zana arrived at the bucket when Boy was just turning away from it. Next round, they'd arrive at exactly the same time — the perfect opportunity to finally utter that dreaded apology.

What am I dreading so much, exactly? she wondered while she massaged fresh oil into the wood, turning its color into the same shade of honey as the oil. She hoped the stink would air out over time, as the shade itself was actually quite nice. It's not as if I'd get a reaction anyway.

Maybe that was the point, though. She needed to know whether or not the apology was accepted, because... because...

Because it'd make me feel better if he does. So it's not about him, but about me again. My precious feelings.

She was ready to throw the brush into the bean bed and walk home. She knew this shouldn't be about her, that this human, like all humans, had it much worse than she'd ever had it in her life, yes, even while she was running from Urko, even while she was attacked by... these things...

She sat down, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Well, perhaps not worse than she'd had it at that point in her life.

When she looked up, she saw that Boy had stopped moving his brush. He was staring at her inquisitively, but made no move to come closer.

"I'm alright," she assured him. "I just... I just remembered something... bad , that had happened to me a while ago, and it... and I suddenly felt rather ill. I just had to sit down for a moment, until, until that feeling has passed." She took a deep breath, trying to push the nausea down.

Boy was still staring at her, his face as unreadable as always.

Then he nodded.

While it was true that apes rarely bathed — in fact, they avoided getting their fur wet if at all possible — tonight, Zana thought, she was ready to try one of those 'bubble baths' Peet had talked about in a longing voice; hot water, with a splash of Prila's floor soap, would remove the last traces of oil and its vile smell from her fur much more efficiently than atsehts of vigorous brushing, and Peet had claimed that it also soothed the pain of overworked muscles.

Of course, she'd smell like Prila's floor soap afterwards, so maybe not.

The light was still burning in the living room, so she shuffled down the hallway on bare feet, reveling in the coolness of the tiled floor. As she had expected, Galen was there, snuggled into one of the cushioned leather chairs, a glass of cider on the small table beside him, still untouched. He was completely immersed in the scroll in his hand.

She moved to his side and picked up the glass to take a sip. It was chilled cider, the perfect refreshment after a very hot day.

Galen looked up, jolted out of his concentration. He returned her smile, but Zana noticed that it didn't reach his eyes. She had stormed out in the middle of an argument, she remembered guiltily. He probably thought she was still mad with him.

"Don't forget your drink over that old, dusty scroll," she jokingly admonished him. "As Alan always told us, it's important to stay—"

"... hydrated," Galen finished the sentence with her. "Yes, I remember. I was going to drink from that glass any moment, you know."

"Ha, you were completely absorbed in whatever treatise you were reading." She refilled his glass from the pitcher standing beside it, then went to get another glass for herself. "What is it?"

"One of your garden journals." Galen watched as she sat down in another leather chair opposite of him, his expression suddenly shuttered. "I hope you don't mind that I opened it before you came home."

One of Melvin's letters, then. Zana looked at Galen in askance; his reaction indicated that the contents of the letter were maybe not...

... she didn't want to know. "Well, don't worry about it," she said lightly. "I keep no secrets from you, especially not of the vegetable kind."

She had hoped to elicit a smile from him, but he simply rolled up the scroll and tucked it into his sleeve; Zana had no idea if Galen kept a secret stash of them somewhere, or if he burned them after reading. She had never asked, and he had never volunteered that information.

Can't spill what you don't know, Peet's voice echoed in her mind.

Zana gulped down her drink to distract herself from the unsettling path her mind was threatening to wander down, and tried to focus on the present moment instead: the taste of cider in her mouth, the soft cushion in her back, the glow of the lamp hanging from the ceiling, and the way Galen had hooked one leg over the armrest of his chair, his foot dangling lazily in the air.

She loved him very much. The feeling welled up unexpectedly, loosing knots and aches in her chest she hadn't noticed a moment ago. "Tell me about your day," she said.

He took a deep breath and leaned back into his chair, staring at the ceiling. "I foisted all my work on Hamez, the poor guy," he confessed. "I stayed home all day, irritating Prila because I didn't know what to do with myself, until she chased me in here and threatened not to make me dinner if I kept getting in her way."

"I gather you did get dinner," Zana teased.

"Oh yes, I was very good and didn't come out again until she told me to," Galen said, dead serious except for the twinkle in his eye. "She kept your portion warm, by the way."

They wandered into the kitchen, glasses in hand, and enjoyed a helping — second helping, in Galen's case — of roast meat and stuffed peppers, and a dessert of fresh cherries. Finally, Zana couldn't suppress her yawn any longer.

"I still have to brush out my fur," she said when she was able to talk again. "Thank you for not once mentioning the stink. Your mother raised a gentleman."

"I didn't notice any stink," Galen lied with a perfectly straight face, and popped another cherry into his mouth.

"But I need to go to bed, too," he added after he had gotten rid of the stone. "I can't make Hamez do all the work all the time, or Voltis will start paying him instead of me."

So they went up the stairs together, and Galen kissed her goodnight without wrinkling his nose. Zana closed the door to her room feeling strangely giddy, despite her sore muscles and the smell she had still to brush out before she could fall into her bed. Well, the sooner she got to work, the sooner she could reward herself with the soft pillows...

She was halfway through, when she heard the wailing.

She stilled, the bristles still sticking in the fur on her shoulder, and listened. There it was again, a sound like young kittens, or... or a baby. And it seemed to originate from right outside her window...

Zana slowly removed the brush from her fur and silently laid it onto the dressing table. Maybe it was kittens... or the wind. She strained her ears, but heard nothing. No sound. No wind.

It had to be kittens. What else could it be?

But kittens on the first floor? Would a mother cat really abandon her litter on a porch roof? No way would a kitten that sounded as young as this one be able to crawl up to her window all on its own.

There! She was sure her ears hadn't played tricks on her this time, and it had come from her window!

Zana got up, grabbed her lamp, and marched to her window, removed the screen and leaned out, sweeping her lamp to look up and down the length of the roof.

Nothing. No kitten anywhere.

She shook her head, puzzled, but decided it was too late to solve a mystery now. She ducked back inside, put the lamp on the window sill and reached for the screen.

And froze.

The cool night air held a degree of moisture that condensed on the outside of the window screens. It would evaporate in the first beams of sunlight — in fact, it was already evaporating in the warmer air of her room. In a few moments, the little droplets would've dried completely, and with them, the imprint on them, in the middle of her screen.

The imprint of a tiny hand, palm and five fingers.

The handprint of a baby.