---
Emberling watched with her neck stretched to see beyond Fenna's shoulder. Her feathers shimmered ruby red with each burst of light, as if reflecting the heat itself. Her tail twitched. She chirped with every fruit pop, excited by the bursts of warmth and color. It was the most animated she'd been since the Matron vanished into ash.
Fenna returned at last, cheeks flushed, arms full of reeds. "Twenty shafts' worth it," she said. "More if we trim them tonight."
Zephyr didn't look up, he was crouched beside the trench, adjusting a fruit into a cooling bowl of moss. "That will hold us a week." He pointed. "These three are prime—ripe, dense, juice heavy. We'll boil them for tea concentrate. The rest, dry them."
Emberling, now curious and mobile, hopped from Fenna's shoulder onto a broad of a char vine leaf, which barely held her weight. She sniffed one of the swelling fruits.
"Careful," Fenna said, reaching out. But the chick licked the fruit before she could stop her.
