Summary: With Tarrow the cosmic jellyfish still sulking far away from Heaven, the Cycling Hen strives to comfort his seven sons and prevent them from tearing one another apart in the games they play.

Characters: Cycling Hen (Life), Reaper of Souls (Death), Prince of Love (Dayfry; Balance; the peacemaker), Prince of Fire (Saturn; Energy; the warrior), Prince of Water (Sunnie; Focus; the scholar), Prince of Sky (Munn; Acceptance; the prankster), Prince of Soil (Twis; Devotion; the merchant), Prince of Breath (Winni; Communication; the teacher), Prince of Leaves (Thurmondo; Curiosity; the inventor), Mother Nature (Space), Tarrow (Reality), assorted clay entities

Rating: K+

Prerequisites: "Gentlemanly". Having some Frayed Knots background would be great. Once the first chapter of Identity Theft has been posted, you may also be interested in cross-referencing.

A/N: What better Prompt to follow "Gentlemanly" than a nature spirit-centered piece? … With preteen zodiac spirits prior the Sealing War and their imprisonment in the cloudland Temples. This piece is pure worldbuilding related to Anti-Fairy zodiac beliefs, so by its nature, there are no* canon characters in it. If you don't care about the nature spirits, you are excused.

Posted: May 22, 2018

78. First Things First

Long, long ago, on a plane of existence high, high in the energy field

"Auuuuuuntiiiieeee!"

The shriek echoed off every rainbow crystal in the cave system, sloshing like a river down a slot canyon. A dozen stalactites burst like bursts, and the stalagmites below them dissolved into chunky puddles. Inside the black and white chicken coop at the end of their twisting tunnel, the Cycling Hen tucked her head a bit further under her wing. "Mm. Sunnie must be maturing more quickly than we thought. He actually let us get some rest this morning."

The Reaper of Souls clapped his own wing over his face. "If I could wish for one thing, it would be the ability to sleep. I'm so downright drained. Can't he ever want us before I deal with a pandemic instead of immediately after?"

The Hen groped for the great raven with her talons. Finding his beak, she pushed him with her foot. "It's just until Tarrow gets over the Hocus Poconos and comes home. You know he wouldn't miss Dayfry's coronation for a world."

"He needs to stop stress-eating," the Reaper muttered. He didn't open his eyes. "This is the fifth time he's gone off to devour a galaxy this week. I keep telling him those solar systems will go right to his thighs."

"The break-up with Lady Hocopo was difficult. We need to stay supportive of him. Especially in front of his kids."

"Last time I tried to be supportive of him, I ended up giving him the Prince of Leaves. What else does he want from me?"

At the sound of his name, Thurmondo rustled his leafy feathers. They'd turned red for the autumn season. He didn't set down his scrolls. "Go up to the surface if you want to read, dear," the Hen scolded, gathering her weight beneath her. She'd need all her strength when Sunnie dragged her from the coop. "You'll strain your eyes that way."

"I will, Auntie, I will… As soon as I get to the end of this chapter."

"Auntie, come see!" Sunnie shot up the henhouse ramp and flung himself at the Hen's folded wing. Of Tarrow's seven sons, he looked the most like his father, with a lynx-like build of black crystal and four wild arms. That was understandable. Sunnie was a water spirit born of Tarrow's tears, and had no mother to speak of (Refer to Tarrow's break-up with the Hocus Poconos). He was practically an identical copy. Apart from Sunnie's much smaller size, the two visual differences between father and son were the blue eyes in place of red, and the flowing white hair that swept to his ankles instead of clumping around his ears. Their capes were different colors too, of course, with Sunnie's clasped at his neck by a white brooch shaped like a turtle.

When the Hen stirred, the young nature spirit slid off her back. He flailed three hands towards whichever tunnel of the crystal cavern he'd sprinted from. "Auntie! Saturn and Winni say I can't play on Planet Snobulac with them until I claim a medium like theirs. Make them let me play."

The Hen massaged her tear ducts with the flight feathers at the tips of each wing. "Prince Sunday, your father set very clear boundaries before he left. If you wish to play in mortal worlds, you need to find a babysitter."

"But I tried! I tried for six generations." Sunnie stamped his foot. A small geyser burst from the wooden floor. It slowly began to soak the nest and dribble through the floorboards. "The mortals don't like me. Make them like me."

"All right," the Hen mumbled, lifting her tail. She squashed the geyser out with her foot. "I'm coming. I'm coming. Watch the clutch until I get back, dear."

The Reaper rolled over, coating the three planet-sized eggs with his dark feathers and a grunt. The Hen stepped down the henhouse ramp after Sunnie, blinking her eyes at the glow of the crystals beyond the entry curtain. One of these days, she and the Reaper would be able to afford resettling above ground. That was Reaper's goal, anyway. Call her a country spirit, but she didn't care for the heavenly cities as much as he did. He told her it would be easier to find work up there. She could not think of a good argument for that.

The tunnel wasn't nearly as high as it ought to be, only half a dozen planets tall. She had to keep her head ducked to avoid bumping it on any of the dripping stalactites. And on top of that, she had to watch for Sunnie underfoot, too. A task which he did not care to make easy for her with all of his running around like flotsam and jetsam in a current. Sunnie scampered along the glittery tunnel, then came back to wait for her to catch up. His paws splashed in the puddles the splintered stalactites had left behind. Had his long ears grown even longer since yesterday? Was that only yesterday?

"Did you finish your homework?" the Hen asked through a croaking yawn.

"Of course. I always do. I'm the smartest of my brothers. I work hard and do a good job on everything because I don't waste time on gooey emotions and friendship. I don't get why people don't like me. Don't they know I always follow the rules? Both those in real life and those from our games. I'm the best demigod. I'm good, I listen to instructions, I do what I'm supposed to, and I work hard. Everyone should want to take orders from me and not my brothers."

No wonder he was doing so poorly in school.

"Where did you three set up the game?"

"In my temple's bottom tier. Saturn and Winni wanted to use my 'Settlers & Spaceships' edition, and that's why I'm mad at them. It's my game and my room, so it just makes sense that I should get to play."

"I see."

Sunnie hopped up and down on the spot. "Auntie, I learned how to turn a river into a waterfall."

"Did you?"

"Yes! That's why I said it. I found an easier way to do it using erosion from the point down, instead of starting from the river and trying to build a mountain up. I can't wait to show Dad when he comes home." He paused, whiskers quivering. Then he craned his head back as she stepped over him. "When is Dad coming home?"

"Your father must still be busy speaking to the Spirit Bear Council, Sunnie. They were very upset with those genie things that Saturn made. You children know you're not allowed to use the sculpting clay from the Promethean Cliffs without my supervision."

"Saturn was just playing," he protested, seemingly forgetting his former anger at his older brother and snapping automatically to his defense. "I like his genies. I think they're cute. I want to make an eelemental just like his. But mine will be able to swim, of course."

The Hen sighed. "Well, we need to figure out what we're going to do with them. Saturn designed them to be desert-dwelling, and he deliberately made them incredibly sensitive to water thinking it would help them sustain themselves. Unfortunately, too much exposure to wetness will kill them. Not only that, but the amount of iron they require is beyond the options we currently have available around here. The Bears aren't very happy. So until the Bears agree to embody a new planet where the genies can thrive, the genies will have to be placed in a terrarium and monitored intensely. And what we're going to do with that for now is anyone's guess. I suppose we'll have to grant some of the older city souls an internship opportunity, and they can take care of them."

Sunnie sprang onto a cluster of purple gems and poised himself in a crouch. His blue cape fluttered behind him like a pair of wings. "Well, I think that I should be allowed to sculpt with your clay. I'll be good and do it while you're watching me. You let Dayfry sculpt with your clay. He made the succubi people."

"That's because Dayfry is the oldest. He's thoughtful, kind, and incredibly responsible."

"I'm responsible. Auntie, I want to sculpt another lifeform."

"I don't know-"

"Please? I can use the clay you gave me for my temple completion day. I didn't use it yet."

Oh dear. The Hen furrowed her brow. "Sunnie, I gave that to you over six million years ago so you could sculpt a companion animal. You made your turtle."

Sunnie grinned. "I made a very small turtle. I saved some clay for later because I knew that a smart nature spirit always plans ahead. Now it's later."

That was not reassuring. Still, better that he used it up while she was watching than behind her back, she supposed.

After winding for some time through the tunnels, they came at last upon the underground entrance to the Water Temple. The arched entryway was square, emphasized with white pillars that flickered through different colors depending on the glow of the crystals around them. The double doors in the mushroom-shaped archway were wicker. Aquarium tanks of massive sea turtles subbed in for windows. With everything flanked with blue ribbons, flowers, and paper lanterns, there was no mistaking that the nature spirit who claimed the place for his own held an affinity with water. The NO DEAD SOULS ALLOWED! sign on the left door underscored his age.

Once inside, the Hen could finally straighten up to her proper height. The temple stretched (quite literally) into the heavens, its thin spiral stairs winding all the way to the surface level. It had five tiers, though the Hen really wasn't sure what a child needed with all that space.

Currently they stood on the bottom floor. It was squarer than she remembered, with heaps of scrolls piled in bins and along shelves around the corners. Pale blue banners flapped from every wall, the flow of luck in the room balanced appropriately by flower pots and incense sticks. Cushioned pallets arranged like a slithering snake divided the tiled side of the room from the carpeted one. One desk shaped masterfully like a turtle held a globe of assorted clay lifeforms, won in duels over the years and maintained in suspended animation for now. His homework lay tucked in folders and stacked beside it.

Aside from a few half-open game boxes and rule books scattered across the floor, Sunnie took pride in keeping his temple clean and orderly so he could focus best. It looked nice. He may have his selfish moments, but he was a good boy. A stab of envy pierced a place between the Hen's eyes as she swept her gaze around the room. Tarrow had withheld no energy when it came to spoiling his kids. All seven elemental temples were much like this one. She and the Reaper, literal embodiments of Life and Death they may be, had worked for their simple chicken coop on their own. If Tarrow's children grew up to be anything like their father, Plane 23 of Existence may not be enough to contain them. Heaven help them then.

Near the snake of cushioned pallets, two young nature spirits lay sprawled on their stomachs. Like Sunnie, their upper halves were lynx-like, thick with jet black crystal and sprinkled with white and purple stars that glittered and twinkled the longer you looked at them. But unlike Sunnie, their forms differed below the waist. Winni lounged among a stack of yellow pillows, fidgeting his tail and the leopard forepaws of his lower half. Saturn's head was tilted to one side. It rested on his hand, the four scaly legs of his lizard body curled in a tangle of heated orange blankets. The great blue cushion was abandoned. Suspended between them was a globe with a vaguely green, swampy tint to its entire surface. Two moons hovered around it, one with a yellow flag stabbed into its brown rock. And below the globe, an enormous surface map had been laid out, its shape as jagged as the peel of a jatican citrus. Both spirits looked up and glared when the two newcomers strolled in.

"See?" Sunnie tugged on the Hen's wing. "They won't let me play."

Winni sat back on his haunches, crossing both sets of his upper arms. "Are you serious? You fetched my mom over this? You big baby."

"It was the best way to get what I want," Sunnie insisted. A gloat crept into his voice. "Now she'll make you let me play."

The Hen yawned and gave her wings a shake. "So, what exactly is going on over here? Couldn't you let Sunnie join in?"

"We did," protested Winni. "He quit."

"No! You stopped me from doing anything!"

"Kids, let Sunnie play too."

Saturn flung out all his hands. "But we just got the major rivers stabilized before the dry season. Sunnie always dries up the rivers when he gets mad."

Sunnie's cape snapped in an imaginary swell of waves. "No I don't!"

"Yeah," Winni butted in, "sometimes he floods everyone with his hurricanes."

"No I don't!"

"Prince Wednesday, Prince Saturday, be nice to your brother."

"Sorry, Mom."

"Sorry, Auntie. But please don't make us restart our game just to play with him. We're 2.7 billion years in."

"My decision remains to be seen." The Hen came around to study the game board and globe from Winni's perspective. From the looks of things, he had three echo points set up already: One on an island, one on a larger landmass, and one tucked away in a valley. That meant three mediums, most likely. The one indicated on the map with the yellow star marker was obviously his favorite. Indeed, six of his character scrolls for her were unrolled around him, pinned open by shards of yellow crystal. He even had a life-sized copy of her resting by his hand, her cloak and tail billowing and her staff raised high. She surveyed her surroundings as though she could really see Sunnie's temple around her. Then she ducked and scampered forward. She bumped into Winni's paw, but continued to run dutifully forward anyway. The Hen adjusted her wings.

"Sunnie, show me where you placed your original echo wagon."

Sunnie pointed to an oasis on the floor mat. "I built it in the desert so people would flock to me when they needed water, but Winni sent his followers to move it to the top of that peak over there and leave it."

"He's the demigod of water, and snow is water," Winni argued back. "I was just helping him."

"The Snobulacs can't live in the snow! They're crocodiles and gators! Now I'm stuck until someone goes up there. They don't even leave me any offerings. Look at Saturn's offerings."

Everyone turned to the heap of gold, gems, and apple cores at Saturn's side. Saturn wrapped an arm and a leg around the pile and pulled it closer to his stomach. One hand picked up the copies of his two mediums, both of whom were wandering aimlessly, and placed them on the tile. "My echo wagon got upgraded into a temple with a firm foundation. I focused on the freshwater Snobulacs in the swamp. Winni has more than I do. He built along the coast where the saltwater people live. He has an island, and he gets tourists to visit him like crazy."

"And I was in the desert with the big river until you moved me where no one ever goes!"

The Cycling Hen nodded, tucking her feet beneath her. She settled between Winni's stack of pillows and Sunnie, who remained standing. "Saturn, your fire powers will keep the Snobulacs warm even in the snow. Will you send some of your followers up the mountain and bring Sunnie's wagon back down?"

Saturn shook his head. "I can't do that. Winni's the one who put it up there. If I bring it down, his followers might want to start a war with mine for going against his medium's instructions. They think she's a prophetess."

"I can't do it either," Winni said. "Half my followers are already threatening to break up with my main half and form another sect. Having my medium tell them I changed my mind about the grueling journey that almost got my general and his troops killed might push them over the edge."

Sunnie pointed at his covered wagon. In this case, it wasn't covered only by a tarp, but also by a layer of snow. The only reason the Hen could recognize it on the mountain was because of the glowing blue arrow gently bobbing up and down above it. "I'm stuck because the sentient species of this world goes into dormancy when they get too cold. I want to skip my turns for the next three millennia so I can turn back the play clock and evolve a new subspecies that can withstand the snow, but Winni and Saturn complained about it even though it's in the rules that I can do this."

Saturn slid one clawed hand from his cheek to his forehead. "Because he's so bad at integrating. I'd be fine with letting him introduce a new subspecies to this world a few thousand years ago if he would keep them in the mountain until he's done fleshing them out and they develop an actual culture with strengths and weaknesses. But as soon as he evolves them up to the current timeline, he'll realize he doesn't have a reliable food source that can sustain multiple generations. He'll try to waltz them down the mountain, and they'll go straight into my swamp. Then my people will wipe them out because I'm more advanced, and he'll cry, and then my swamp water will dry up. It's not my fault."

"I don't want to be on the mountain. I want to be in the desert. Everyone in the desert needs me, and they love me."

The Hen tilted her head. "Well, Sunnie, that's the game. Winni and Saturn didn't do anything wrong."

"But I actually want to play! Not just sit here doing nothing. Shouldn't I be allowed to use my gifts to look after and bless the mortals? They're stopping me from helping people. And what about the few followers I actually do have? I can't answer their prayers if they don't pray near my wagon, but they don't know that. If this goes on, they'll be mad at me and call me names." His hands went to his mouth. "They'll create statues specifically to deface me. They'll spread bad myths and rumors about me. It'll go on my permanent record at school, and I'll fail every class for sure. It would also negatively impact my self-esteem. Are you going to let that happen to me?"

Winni looked away. "I guess he can turn back the play clock. But only if he doesn't complain anymore."

"You know he will," Saturn muttered.

Sunnie picked up one of the rule books lying on his cushion. "The subspecies I make is going to be able to survive in the snow. Let me look up how to do this so I can make sure it's right. First, I'm going to need a new species sheet."

The Hen stayed to watch as the young nature spirits went through the motions of their worldbuilding. Winni and Saturn were good sports about it, even if they drummed their fingers on their thighs the whole time. She'd never been much interested in this sort of thing herself, maybe because she'd grown up without such games and it was only in recent years that her parents had brought them into existence. If nothing else, at least the youths were sticklers for following their own self-imposed rules, even if they hated it. That could prove to be useful someday.

Sunnie finished adding his new subspecies to the game, allowing Saturn to pick up from the present timeline. Thousands of years after their creation, the mountain-dwelling subspecies were doing decently for themselves. They'd become a sentient people. They'd settled down, built several lodges - including a library - and had grown into effective hunters. Their villages were thriving. Saturn held the dice to his chest.

"Please be double fours, please be double fours." He threw them, and they clattered beside the board. One knocked over one of his life-sized medium models, who didn't seem to notice. "Ha! Spider eyes!"

Sunnie squinted. "What are you doing?"

"You'll see. For my blessing phase, I'm going to give the snow subspecies fire." Saturn picked a blessing token out of the game box, and it appropriately shifted into a small flame. He placed it on the game board's mountain and nodded in satisfaction. "Then for my action phase, I'm going to burn the woods. And for my miracle phase, I'm going to spare the village."

"What?" Sunnie clapped his hands to his cheeks. "Hey, no! Stop it! I need them to like me more so they'll upgrade my wagon!"

Winni scooped up the dice and held them out to Saturn again. "If 2 is either the sum or difference of what you roll, then the majority of the villagers will attribute their survival to you, and erect a monument outside the library in your name."

"Let's hope I don't total 6 again."

Sunnie shook his head, his long hair swishing like a flag. "Don't. Take the base conversion bonus instead."

Saturn rolled the dice. He came up with a six and a four.

"Yes! And since we have a three-medium maximum for this game, it should be just a few turns before I convince one of the snow subspecies to take my third favor. Then I can build my forts along the mountains and start coming for that fishing village of yours from both sides, Winni."

"Stop it!"

"And finally, for my play clock phase, let's see how many years pass between my turn and yours."

"No fair!" Sunnie sprang to his feet and kicked the mountain on the game board. This triggered an avalanche, which crashed towards the uppermost village and smothered everyone. Tiny lights pinged into existence along the floating globe, beeping in distress. It wouldn't be long now before word of what had just happened spread to the neighboring towns. A floating scroll burst into existence overhead, unraveling itself, listing the names of everyone injured in the crisis and the urgency of their situation. Winni grabbed for the dice, ready to start down the list in an attempt to roll survivor status for as many Snobulacs as he could. Saturn clenched his miracle spare tokens in his fist. Sunnie stalked from his room back out to the crystal tunnel, fuming and tracking puddles in his wake. Sighing just once, the Cycling Hen rose to her feet and padded her way after him.

"Sunnie-"

"Don't talk to me! You always take their side anyway. Especially Winni's because he's actually yours."

The Hen's feathers prickled, but she pressed on. "You know it isn't fun for your brothers to play with you when you snap at them like this. You'll ruin the game for them. Sunnie, I know you're hurting, but don't let your temper get the best of you. Remember your tranquility lessons in school." Nature spirits were required to take three hours of tranquility lessons a day in school. Five if they dealt with mortals on a regular basis. Learning to control one's powers came second to learning to control one's anger.

Sunnie shoved his fist across his eyes. Twice. Then he turned around. He had to back away to see her face, his tiny body skittering among the crystals. He looked so small, so black, like a wispy shadow that would disappear into the depths of the cave as soon as the Hen took the time to blink. "I'm just tired of losing every time I play. Even in the other games, none of the mortals ever want to take my favor. Everyone else gets to have fun with their mediums, and their mediums actually listen to them, and let them inhabit their bodies and stuff. I really, really want a medium. I'll take absolutely anyone. Even if they hate me!"

"You don't want your medium to hate you," the Hen sighed. She brought her wing forward and slid her feathers behind the back of Sunnie's head. "Your medium is someone who is always there for you. They can guide you through an unfamiliar culture on an unfamiliar planet. They can be a friend. A teacher." A buffer between an innocent world and a neurotic spirit child who had nearly come into his full powers, even if he hadn't yet come into full maturity.

"I don't care about the loyalty bonus. Mediums only last for a few turns anyway before they die and you have to train a new one." Sunnie clenched his fists. "I just want to play with one. I never get to take a medium. Even when I do, they never want to listen to anything I say, and everyone else who's playing just targets them for no reason. Or their people in the game just target my medium even when no one tells them to. They just don't like me. By this point, I'm starting to think only an absolute idiot could ever be tricked into taking my favor."

The Hen tapped her claws against the stones. "Maybe the next time you play, you should focus on building up your temple. The more loyalty you have, the more likely your mediums are to listen to you, and the more abilities you can unlock. Loyalty is built over generations. Take your time to strategize early on. Establish your presence and gather your followers. Then you can move beyond your starter village."

"I try! But I never get to start in the places with the best resources. No one brings me offerings when they can't feed their own families."

The Hen was beginning to see where this was going. She withdrew her wing. "Hmm… You know, Dayfry always seems to gather followers and collect offerings even when he has to start his echo wagon in unfavorable locations. Let's ask him for advice. Maybe he can help."

"Okay," Sunnie muttered. He kicked a pink crystal near his foot, but followed her anyway.

They heard the two voices while they were still an entire twist of the tunnel away. From the sound of it, Mother Nature had actually decided to grace one of her grandchildren with her presence when requested. The Hen could just imagine the tiny purple hummingbird zipping around her mother's head, trying to study one of his many game globes from a slightly different perspective every few wingbeats.

"And that's how it works, Dayfry. Does that make more sense now?"

"Oh, yes! Thank you, Grandmother. You're really good at this game."

"Of course. Sweetie, your grandfather and I invented this game."

"Still, you're really good. Thanks."

The Hen lifted the translucent purple curtain that marked Dayfry's underground entrance to his temple. When Sunnie made no move to enter, she bent her neck and nudged him forward. "Go on. Ask him if you can join in."

Sunnie dug his feet into the ground. "Can't you ask him? I don't want him to know I quit the other game."

"He's your brother, Sunnie. He'll gladly help you if you ask."

"Okay." He went inside to join his brother and grandmother, albeit slowly. His cape flapped pathetically at his heels, no longer billowing. Mother Nature turned her head. Sunnie cringed, and didn't lift his eyes. "U-um. Dayfry? I want some advice. Can you teach me the best way to get a medium?"

Dayfry swooped towards the floor. With a kiff of steam, he morphed from a hummingbird back into his usual half-and-half demigod self. "Of course. I've been working on a world for a while that I've really wanted to show someone. It's your lucky day."

As much as she tried not to, the Cycling Hen couldn't help but wince when Dayfry pulled himself together again. Of all Tarrow's children, reckless and stubborn they may be, Dayfry was the one who unnerved the older generation of nature spirits the most. Why wouldn't he? His entire existence was an anomaly. He'd been born when Reality and Unreality for one brief instant had brushed; his mother was the Hocus Poconos. His shape mimicked Tarrow's, largely bipedal and lynx-like, but instead of a body composed of black crystal, his was white. Just like his mother. It was that and those crimson antlers that sent imaginary mites crawling up and down beneath the Hen's wings.

Dayfry was a spirit of Love, yes. He held mastery over loyalty, gentleness, and honor, sure. But like his mother before him, he tended towards obsession when at his worst. He strove for peace between his siblings, even forcefully at times when it seemed the only way. It wouldn't take much pressure from his brothers to prompt him into taking on the role of conqueror, prepared to storm the cities of Plane 23 and level them in a deluded quest for equality or justice or rights.

Tarrow adored him. Literally translated, Dayfry's name meant Mutual gift of special love, and Tarrow made a point of reminding everyone. He doted on his firstborn more than any of his other sons, which did nothing to quell the jealousy of Dayfry's younger siblings in the Hen's eyes.

But fry seemed such an odd suffix to add on to his name. As far as the Hen knew, the Hocus Poconos lacked the ability to show even the slightest affection for anyone. More animal than sentient, she embodied Unreality. She was a force, a duty, driven by hard and unrelenting logic just as Tarrow flew through life with emotion guiding all his spontaneous passions. Tarrow bumping into her as he wandered the universe had been an accident, a passing fling. They had kiff-tied out of curiosity and promptly gone their own ways after coming apart again, leaving Tarrow - for once in his grandiose life - the submissive spirit who carried the resulting baby to its brief term. Call her old-fashioned, but to the Hen, it didn't sound like much of a mutual gift then, if the Hocus Poconos hadn't even lingered thirty more seconds to see her baby be born.

Dayfry was a sparkling child. His mother's colors were strictly cold and monochrome, but Dayfry was multicolored and shimmering. Bubbly and full of life. While his color may be white, from a certain angle it appeared almost transparent, displaying the rainbows running in his veins. He smiled once at the Hen, thin-lipped, eyes wide, before reaching out to take one of Sunnie's hands.

As he and Sunnie went off together, Mother Nature turned towards the temple entrance. Her sacred animal was the swan, though she rarely looked it. At least she had the color down. She was always experimenting with random features she'd granted to completely different animals. Today her lower half was thylacine beneath the swan wings, striped and muscular. Her tail was needlessly long. Thick and dripping with angora fur, it stretched behind her, at least four times her current body length. And as always, her ram's horns curled below her rabbit-like ears. Typical Mother. Always wanted to stick horns on everything. Especially things related to swans. She called herself a "chimera connoisseur" and yes, she offered "constructive" criticism on everything she saw.

"Chel," she greeted the Hen. "It's nice to see you out and about early in the century for once."

The Hen bowed her head. "Mother."

Mother Nature's eyes slid along the Hen's shimmering, gossamer countenance until her daughter scrunched her feet beneath her. "How are the chicks? War? Famine? Pestilence? Unproductive Sleep?"

"Their names are William, Finnigan, Peter, and Sally, Mother. And I have a new batch of eggs now, too. For some centuries now, actually. You're welcome to visit us and see them."

"Mmhm. So are you still living underground with that… charming young rogue?"

"Just until he finishes his training. Once the student loans are paid off, we'll move up to the city." Gag. Thank starlight that would be awhile.

Mother Nature slid her forelegs closer, her tail ticking back and forth at the very end. "At least tell me Prince Morn is the real father of your chicks. They need strong parental figures in their lives, and I'm afraid the one they have will only steer them down the wrong path."

"They're the Reaper's. I can assure you of that."

"You can tell me truthfully if they aren't. I won't rub it in the crow's face." Mother Nature leaned even further forward. "Although I doubt he would be surprised. After all, he knows how you are with commitment. Coming and going as you please, adding ridiculous bobbles on tiny creatures for courtship displays that exhaust them, designing inefficient reproductive habits that drive so many of your creations to extinction, always leaving him to pick up after you…"

The Hen kept her gaze level. "Ross and I are happy working in tandem, Mother. It fulfills us both. Sure, he's a bit dirty and scruffy around the edges, but…" She found herself smiling despite herself. "Ross is never predictable. He dabbles in this and that, always innovating. There's so much he wants to try. He excites me. He appreciates the presents I send him and takes care of every one as though they were trophies won in war. I'm proud that my chicks can grow looking up to him."

"The Reaper of Souls never even takes your favor when you kiff-tie." She stated this with a triumphant gleam in her eye. Turning her head, she fixed her daughter with the other one. It was deep brown, full of rich soil prepared to sprout. "The chicks will grow up seeing him as the submissive scavenger he is soon enough."

"All right, Mother. When my children fall in love with someone wonderful who is willing to follow them to every world in the universe, I'll be sure to tell them that."

Mother Nature did not push the issue. She simply left the temple, her plumed tail lifted behind her and rippling as she oozed away behind the door. The Hen rolled her eyes and stepped across the room to join Sunnie and Dayfry. The latter sat on the floor by his desk, "holding" the hovering globe between all four of his hands.

"You know," Sunnie was saying, leaning over Dayfry's shoulder as he worked, "you could get an orphan bonus if you kill off her parents."

"I suppose I could. But that seems mean."

Sunnie turned his head, squinting. "She'll hurt for a little while, but she's only one mortal. That's how you get achievements. That's how you win."

Dayfry spilled the dice beside the game board. "I don't just play campaign mode. I'm interested in watching cultures develop and the different economies grow all across my world. I have fun learning the storylines of my people. I like helping them achieve their personal goals. And when I'm done playing with a world, instead of wiping it and starting over, I like to put it on my shelf and start a new game with a new world instead." So saying, he gestured to the shelves above his desk. There had to be dozens of tiny globes set on stands there, progressing and developing even when their deity had turned his attention away.

"And… That makes you happy?"

Dayfry shrugged. "More than anything."

Sunnie stuck up his chin. "Well, I like winning. That's why I only play King of the Hill mode."

"Yes. Isn't it nice that we can all have fun playing different ways?"

"But the mortals aren't alive like we are. They're just mortals."

"They still have so much potential."

At that, Sunnie shook his head. His long ears flopped about his face. "We're more powerful than them, and it's our world. We should decide what we want them to do. There are so many of them, it's okay to lose a few to insanity or disease if it stops the others. Sacrifices have to be made sometimes. This is where strategy comes in. That's when it's fun."

"You can believe in interfering if you want when you play with your games, but when I play by myself, I prefer to let nature take its course. I like mortals."

"You don't have to be this way with every planet. You can mix it up sometimes. Push your boundaries, test your limits. Explore. Learn. Grow."

"I know. But I'm in no rush."

"And besides," Sunnie went on, "there are so many ways cultures can develop on the same world. So many different personalities, so many different relationships. Aren't you into that sort of thing? There are thousands of alternate timelines possible in a single game. Grandmother and Grandfather made each one special and unique, so it's not like you can just get another game of the same world. Why would you only want to play once and be done without tapping into all that potential?"

Dayfry lowered the globe into his lap. "I like seeing what the mortals decide to do when I don't boss them around directly."

"But you're missing out on all the bonuses."

"Not all of them."

"Most of them."

Dayfry only shrugged again. He was still smiling, his gaze on a purple star on a boat somewhere in the sea. "When I do pick a medium, I try to pick someone who really deserves my power. Someone who came from a humble background and can make not only their life better, but the lives of the people around them. I think people like that understand the needs of those around them better than I can just watching them from the outside. I like granting selfless miracles. I like watching my people learn and grow."

"I don't get it," Sunnie said. "If you would strategize your resources effectively, you could earn more achievements and unlock more customization and interference options. Instead of waiting years or even centuries for them to randomly get lucky and develop concrete on their own, you could grant them a miracle, thus making them want to build you more monuments and worship you more. Then you could use those points to unlock the research path early and grant them enough knowledge that they could have concrete by the time I left this room."

"I don't want to force my scholars to spend extra time away from their families if they don't want to."

"But it's the most effective strategy."

Dayfry smirked. "If it makes you feel better, I get happiness bonuses when they spend time with the ones they love. Plus, when their parents are happy and think of me as benevolent, their children are more likely to follow in their path."

"Not that there's much point, since you still waste time and resources taking care of them even when they don't give you anything in return."

"They don't deserve to be sad. Sure, some prayers and offerings would be nice, but I don't like them any less than the other people in their town."

Sunnie leaned his cheek against his hand, scanning the game board. "I don't like that Zamantha woman. I can't believe you let her give up being an acolyte to be a housewife. You should have sent her a sign telling her to marry Rhis instead of Nax."

"Rhis is pretty strict with his younger brothers," Dayfry said, rotating the globe. "He'd probably be snappy with his children. I don't think Zamantha would have liked living with him. That's why she didn't marry him. He'll be happier with someone who actually likes his personality."

"But with one parent being a military general and the other being a temple acolyte, it's almost guaranteed their kids would go on to do great things. There's so much pressure, how could they not? Nax's family doesn't even have any social status. They're just commoners."

"All right, Sunnie."

Sensing Sunnie's mounting impatience, even though Dayfry was doing a good job of maintaining his own temper, the Cycling Hen stepped forward again. "Sunnie, why don't you and I go up to surface and find Twis and Munn? I'm certain they'll play with you."

Sunnie looked up. "Can we sculpt? I want to sculpt. Dayfry's playing with his succubi planet. Grandma made it special for him. Can she make me a planet for me to play with my own creations? Especially since Saturn and Winni are still using my other game?"

"I… think she's very busy teaching at the academy. But I suppose you and I could sculpt for a little while, if we only use a little bit of clay. But you'd have to keep anything you make in your room."

Sunnie cheered up at once. Hopefully she wouldn't regret this.

Plane 23 was famous for its red canyons. Or at least, that's where the central city had been founded. The cliffs stretched on for light-years (as the jellyfish swims), but if one did manage to find their way out of them, one would quickly stumble across the rolling hills of long, pure white grass which whispered in the breeze. Or created the breeze.

The city itself sprouted from the scarlet rocks. The buildings were white and always pristine, and every street was paved with silver. Upon squeezing from the crystal tunnels through a highly undignified jagged crack in the ground, Sunnie and the Hen found themselves a short ways outside the official city limits, near the orchards. Nearby they spotted a spirit with the lower half of a leafy red rooster sitting in the shade of a strawberry-colored tree.

"Hi, Auntie." Thurmondo lifted his scroll from his lap. "I came up to surface to read, like you asked me to."

"Thank you, Thurmondo. I appreciate it. Have you invented anything interesting lately?"

"I've been experimenting. Fiddling. Trying some things out. Now I'm looking up a fact." He flipped the scroll over to its back and didn't elaborate.

"We're going to ask Munn and Twis if they want to sculpt with us. Would you like to join in?"

"No thanks. I'm reading about how rex grow back their tails when they lose them."

"Good luck, dear." The Hen brushed his head with her wing and left him to it.

"Auntie! Sunnie!"

Sunnie perked up at the sound of his younger brother's voice. The Hen turned. Twis trotted along the orchard towards them on his four donkey hooves, his arms laden with glowing golden branches. Dust, smoke, and mist kicked up in the cloudy path behind him.

"Have either of you seen my Vespulas?" he asked. "I finished cleaning out and rebuilding the second hive just a bit ago, but now I don't know where the swarm went."

Immediately after he said that, high-pitched howls flew towards them from the flower park where Prince Morn and Princess Eve generally went on walks together. Twis sighed.

"Of course. Munn got them."

The Cycling Hen chuckled. "You know how playful he is. His mother will knock him around and noogie him a bit, but she knows he's only playing. Well, I was about to bring down some clay for Sunnie and I to sculpt with. Would you like to join us?"

"I'd love to. Maybe I will. Maybe. But I really don't have time to waste on creating lifeforms I can't put anywhere." Twis wiped his forehead with the back of one wrist. He'd started to sprout dark, curly hairs along his chin like a billy goat, the Hen noticed with a touch of amusement. He must be growing faster than most of his brothers. "I also wanted to graft this luminescent branch onto one of the fruit trees in my orchard before long. Thurmondo was helping me, but I think he forgot. As usual."

"Maybe Sunnie could help you. If nothing else, he could water your garden while I get the clay and set up a working station for us."

"But I don't need any…"

"Prince Tuesday." The Hen fixed him with a meaningful look. Even if she was willing to grant a portion of Promethean clay to Sunnie, she was certainly not willing to take him up the cliff and show him where to harvest it.

Twis scuffed one of his hooves against the path, inciting another swirl of dust and mist. "Yes, I suppose so, Auntie. Come on, Sunnie. Then we'd better go find Munn before he gets into trouble."

Sunnie shrugged and bounced over to him. "Besides letting them loose to sting people, what's the worst he can do with Vespulas? Infect them with deadly bacteria and unleash untold chaos into the universe?"

"I just don't want to be around when he tries to find someone to pin the blame on."

"I'll be sure to vouch for you if anyone wants to hold you responsible," the Hen promised.

"Thanks, Auntie."

They left, Sunnie waving his arms and ranting the whole way about the unfairness of his general life, and Twis nodding along with everything he said and occasionally flicking an ear in sympathy. Good. Perhaps when Sunnie finished expressing his frustrations, he wouldn't be quite so cranky. Being with Twis always seemed to rejuvenate him.

Once they were gone, the Hen spread her wings and took off for the free-falling waterfall in the distance. Those were sacred waters plummeting from the great rosewater fountain, Kiiloëi, on Plane 24 just above. It soaked the rainbow cliffsides there, bathing them in energies and powers that even the nature spirits had only just scratched the surface of. Shadowy birds with snapping talons circled the peak. Promethean clay wasn't nearly as difficult to come by as it probably should have been considering how powerful the stuff was. It was sort of just over there on top of the mountain, and not too difficult a journey for anyone who could fly. The main feature keeping the stuff out of the hands of curious dead souls residing in the city below was that it reeked.

Really, really reeked. Millions of years of spoiled dairy products trapped in sulfur caves sort of reeked. This was the kind of stuff that would knock a mere mortal out instantly, and that even the dead only tried to obtain if they were also carting a stinky mustelid along, just to lift its tail for a blissful whiff of something sweeter.

But the Hen, being the Hen, was not one to be deterred by olfactory unpleasantries. With her smile infinitely unfazeable and her patience unbound, she simply couldn't be bothered to. Being a nature spirit, she had control over every last aspect of her body, down to the growth of individual feathers and the reactions of her senses. She could will herself not to be affected by the smell. A power that far too many dead souls she'd seen arrive on Plane 23 over the millennia, sad as it was, were willing to exchange their chance at reincarnation for. They often regretted it, as far as she knew, once they realized just how much schooling it required to be licensed as a nature spirit (For crying out loud, her own husband wasn't officially done yet). Not to mention the strength of their belief, lest they crumple and fail. Preparing for reincarnation alone took nine years of careful study, followed by an intensive exam, except under extreme circumstances when one spirit might take pity on the sob story of a straggler and wave them through anyway.

Landing on the cliffs overlooking the Pool of Rejuvenation and the Salty River of Woe, the Hen couldn't help but notice that one soul, indeed, had come from the city to brave the stench today. She sighed. Of course. There was always one. The polite thing to do would be to acknowledge him, to warn him away, but the Hen had done that far too many times this week alone. While few things could faze her, the niggling hatred of being laughed at was one that always managed to crawl under her skin.

So instead, she spared the soul only a partial glance before setting to work herself. She sunk her claws into the soft cliffside, raking together a sizable clump of the stuff. Perfect. Now, to just avoid dropping blotches of clay throughout the sparkling silver city as she flew back to find Sunnie and Twis. That would certainly put a damper on everyone's day, and we couldn't have that.

It wasn't long before the three spirits settled around a picnic table in one of the orchards far, far away from the city itself. Especially with the rank clay piled beside them, they wouldn't be disturbed by anyone except Munn, who had decided to join them until he'd accidentally knocked his jar of Vespulas off the table and shattered it in the mist and smoke of the ground. Now he was fruitlessly chasing after them with a net full of holes. Thurmondo had decided to join them after all just for the company. Though with his nose buried in his work as usual, he didn't seem inclined to get his hands dirty.

This particular orchard was one of the Hen's favorites, with pink crystal trees that bore flat emeralds instead of leaves, and peridot flowers the size of breakfast plates. The grass went up to her ankles, and past many of the younger spirits' knees. Smaller souls, if she remembered correctly, were usually engulfed. Why was it that of all the sacred animals major spirits took the forms of, none of them had claimed a goat? That would help keep the grass trimmed down.

Sunnie sat at the gleaming black table in silence, molding with his fingers even as his eyes kept wandering to what Twis was doing. The Hen paused from her own sculpting to watch the way Sunnie worked. His attention to detail was unparalleled. He layered each overlapping scale row after row, designing them individually, checking their sizes against the others before he pressed them carefully down. When she pointed this out to him, he shrugged.

"Saturn was being unfair when he said I was so eager to claim resources that I didn't care about my people's culture. I actually do like taking my time to do things right. I just like controlling some things because I like to know what's going on. I don't like it when the mortals do things wrong and then get upset about the consequences. If they would just listen to me, I could help them make the best choices."

"You'll make a fine spirit when you're older."

He looked up. "You really think so?"

"Of course." Although the Hen sat across the table from him, she touched his shoulder with her wing. "I'm sorry if you felt excluded by your brothers today. You're still young. It's only natural to bicker a bit with each other at that age."

Sunnie added another scale to his clay figure. "Thanks for letting me do this with you. I like making things. It feels useful and makes me happy."

"What are you sculpting?"

"It's a new species that's part fish, but it has hands. I'm going to keep it in one of the tanks in my room until I pass Dad's test and get the Bears' permission to put my creations on actual planets."

The Hen nodded. "That sounds like a good plan. What is the species called?"

Sunnie grinned. "A mermaid!"

"That's a cute name. I like it."

"Well, I guess 'maid' is just for girls. The species can be called merfolk. There can also be mermen. I guess there are mergirls and merboys too." He absorbed himself in his work once again.

The Hen brought her attention to the spirit sitting beside her, who had rolled his clay into a long tube with narrow ends. He was now staring at it, brows drawn, with his lips pressed in a thoughtful pout. "What did you make, Twis?"

"Some kind of creature that will dig tunnels and aerate the soil for me. I don't know what it's called yet."

Still adding scales to his mermaid, Sunnie glanced over at the tube. "I can help you decorate it if you want. You should give it arms and a real head. You don't even have to give it legs if you don't want to. I didn't. It's hard to get the legs right, so I usually just don't try."

Twis scratched his cheek. "I want it to be one of those creatures with the frills that flare up when they're surprised. I think they look fascinating. This one will have blue frills, like you, Sunnie." Here he looked up at the Hen. "Maybe they can use them to attract their mates too."

"I'd like that."

"Of course you would, Auntie. It's kind of your thing."

She ducked her head modestly. "What can I say? I like it when my creations reproduce successfully and raise tiny babies."

"What are you making, Auntie?" Sunnie asked, shifting one eye to her work. He'd added long flowing hair to his mermaid not much different from his own.

"Something different. I thought I might try six arms this time."

"Six?" Twis looked up. "That sounds heavy."

"Hmm… Then I suppose I'll have to give them some wings to help carry some of that weight. And maybe six eyes to see things with."

"Like an insect," Sunnie said approvingly.

"Only bigger. Strong enough to carry things. I want to put those six hands to good use, after all." The Hen ran the feathers of one wing along her creation, pressing in deep and smoothing out many of the bumps until she formed a head with a distinct neck. Board games and arguments may not be her thing, but she'd always enjoyed working with the clay. She smiled at Sunnie. "You know, I'll bet they would be excellent at snowball fights."

But Twis shook his head. "They would get too cold."

"Then I'll give them fur." She took the end of her wing and began cross-hatching into the clay figure's torso.

Sunnie pointed his finger. "But you already gave them feathers."

Indeed, she'd gotten as far as coating the ankles with tiny, crooked feathers before she'd become distracted with the arms. The Hen squinted. "Oh. I did, didn't I? Oh well. This one will be a mix."

"I don't think that's how it works." Sunnie started to get up. "I should check the rulebook."

"That's all right. Not every species has to last for long. Sometimes I just make things for fun. I don't mind if they don't survive on the planet where I place them." Pausing from the fur, the Hen held the clay figure in front of her eyes. "The Reaper loves it when he's out working and he stumbles upon something completely new I've made. You know how obsessive he is about organizing the city, putting this species there and that one there and that one there. I wonder where he'll decide to put this one. Maybe I can send him this creature in time for our anniversary. It's interesting. I like it. I'll bet the new chicks will love it too, once they hatch."

Sunnie shook his head. Although he was still staring at the Hen's creation, his hands worked rapidly with the stuff before him, pinching and pressing. "I'm not going to waste this clay. I want everything I make to last. I'm going to be very careful. I'll add gills, and make sure I get all the reproductive parts right, and I'll even make them able to breathe air and water. And they'll have swim bladders so they can float. And maybe webbed fingers. This race will last until I'm old."

"Is yours a boy or a girl?" Twis asked her.

The Hen stared at the clay before her. For something she'd slapped together at random, it was actually shaping up to be rather cute. Must be those pointed ears. Everything looked cute once you added pointed ears. Without thinking about it much, she'd designed it to be bipedal. Of course, it might need a long tail to balance some of that weight. Would a thin one with a cute puff on the end be enough? Probably not, but it was worth a try. If nothing else, the wings should help. Maybe she'd add a second set. She reached for another scoop of clay. "I'm not sure yet."

"I think it's a boy," Sunnie decided once she'd blended the tail into place.

"Could be. And now, for the finishing touch." The Hen brought her beak down and gave the clay figure a sharp peck on the stomach, forming a gash. "I've always had a soft spot for marsupials. Now it's perfect."

Her creation began to move. Sunnie and Twis watched in silent fascination as the clay pushed itself up. It stayed on all its hands and feet for a minute. Its tail lashed twice. Then it gathered its strength and stood, arms wobbling. It maintained that proud posture for only a few seconds before it plopped down on its rear. Gingerly, the Hen offered it the tip of her wing and helped it back to its feet. It continued holding onto her as it began to explore the table. "It's too top-heavy," Sunnie protested, and Twis said, "It doesn't need all those arms. They'll just get in the way."

"Well." The Hen touched the back of its head with a single feather. "I like it. I'm glad I breathed life into it instead of mashing it back up. I wonder… Which planet do you think the real creature that this doll is paired with ended up on?"

"Wait," Sunnie said suddenly. "You forgot to make that one a boy or a girl."

The Hen laughed. "I suppose I did."

"But now the whole species is like that!"

"Sometimes this happens. In time, they'll figure something out. If they don't, I wasn't expecting them to last long."

"Speaking of which-!" Twis yelped. He ducked as a small swarm of Vespulas flew across the table. After them flew Munn, swiping at them with a long net. The Hen pulled back her wings, but not her clay figure. Munn's net slammed straight into it. The clay flew from the table and hit cloud, shattering into three separate pieces. "Munn!" Sunnie screeched. "You broke it! She gave it life and everything!"

"Oops." Sheepishly, Munn straightened up and hid the net behind his back. His feet hovered just above the ground. "Sorry, Auntie. I'll make you a new one."

"It's all right." The Hen swept the smashed bits into her wings and set them back on the table. They were still wiggling, fumbling blindly around for their missing pieces. "I can make three smaller creatures out of the remaining bits instead. I certainly have enough arms and eyes to go around. My first design was a bit impractical anyway. This time, I'll make one creature with fur, one with feathers, and one that's like an insect. No harm done."

Twis picked up the squirming torso. "These pieces are all dirty now. Look at all the dust that got mixed in. You'll never get this out."

"Sorry about that," Munn said again.

"I don't mind. It adds character." The Hen rolled a new ball of clay between her wings. "I'll fix them up, and this time I'll remember to create both sexes. Maybe they can all be friends."

Just then, a sound halfway between a crow and a shriek tore through the air. Over by the tree, Thurmondo sprang to his feet, pointing two fingers. "Daddy's home!"

Sunnie and Twis immediately lost interest in their clay sculptures. "Daddy!" They took off across the orchard. Tarrow himself, cloaked in a red cape that swirled around him as he hovered above the ground, crouched down to catch them in his arms.

"Hello, kids. Did you miss me too much?"

Sunnie embraced one of his arms and Twis took another. Thurmondo took the third, and Munn was soon there to tackle him from behind. The four pounced all over him, squealing and swatting.

"Did you bring us anything?" Thurmondo asked, wrapping around his leg.

"Thurmy," Munn scolded, "Don't be rude."

"I was just curious!"

The Hen walked over to join them. As she moved, she thought over each of her words in turn, trying to pick out a phrase that didn't sound as accusatory as she almost would have liked it to be. She settled on, "How was your trip?"

Tarrow averted his eyes. He bent down, forcing Munn to slide from his neck to the ground. "Uneventful."

"It will be nice to have you around again. Will you be staying with us long, or are you off to Plane 24 again soon?"

"No, I'm… I'm staying. For a while."

She bobbed her head. "I'm glad. The kids were great. There was an argument or two, but they're all growing up to be fine young spirits. You should be proud of them."

"Chel?"

The Hen had started to turn away. She blinked. Tarrow floated above the trodden path, holding the elbow of the one arm whose hand was physically disconnected from the rest of his body. The Hand of Fate. Tarrow looked smaller standing there than she remembered, even with his kids clinging to his legs. Younger. Scruffier. More like an adolescent all of a sudden than the drowsy but proper gentleman she'd grown familiar with, his aura forcibly shifting her reality to reflect his embarrassed state of mind. His red cape nearly smothered him, its tattered ends flowing all around him like the tendrils of a jellyfish. The Hand of Fate's fingers clenched.

"I know I've been distant since the Hocus Poconos and I… separated… but I really do appreciate you watching out for my sons. Even if I'm not always around to show it."

The half-hearted vocal praise meant about as much to her as a handful of sand. There were only so many times one could stand to be thanked with empty promises before it begun to wear on them. The Hen had been wearing out for billions of years, even though she strived to never show it. Nonetheless, she bowed her head again. "Of course, Brother. But they did miss you every moment."

"They need a mother," Tarrow muttered. "I'm glad they at least have you."

"Dad, Dad." Sunnie tugged on one of his lower arms. "I made a waterfall out of a river. Can I show you?"

Munn embraced his father's neck from behind this time. "And after you see Sunnie's waterfall, I want to show you how fast I can fly to the mountains and back."

"And I made the honeysuckles blossom!"

"I cleaned a Vespula hive all on my own."

One benefit of having four hands was, it made it easy for Tarrow to ruffle four heads all at the same time. "You can all show me what you're working on," he promised. "But first, I need to let Dayfry know I'm here."

With Tarrow watching over his children, the Cycling Hen finished work on her three creations and cleaned away the rest of the clay. Then she made her slow return below ground to her familiar henhouse. The Reaper of Souls was up and alert, perched carefully on all three of their eggs. He shifted to one side as she climbed the ramp. After she had set the three clay figures in their terrarium on its shelf, he asked, "How was your day, sugar?"

"Oh," she murmured, and leaned her cheek into his feathers with a yawn. "Just the usual, dear."