Page 29 of Gyft

Olivia watches them settle and then her gaze falls onto me. “We kind of look like a matching family with our white hair.”

She tilts her head my way when no one responds.

“Having the freelig on our heads change color used to be a curse,” I say. “Until the homes were built around the deadlands with the condition that suites would be given to protect the soldiers who defend them. When our hair turned white facing the Lealair’ash, which is the creature you called a pond-monster, it became more honorable to carry white freelig.”

She watches me carefully out of the corner of her eye, her lips pursed. “When?”

“Excuse me?”

“When did it become popular?”

I shrug, trying to appear uncaring but failing miserably. “In the last decade of the planet, or so. Since the twins have been alive.”

“So, you’ve worn white freelig since it was unfashionable?” she asks. Rather astute, my bride.

I give a simple head nod.

“We’re excited the Commander and his troops protect us,” Kyno says, giggling when his sister pokes him in the side. They both laugh, identical white heads pressed together, and draw their hood over their heads. They’re dressed in one shared brichet, as many twin souls do, and it’s wider than most to accommodate two heads.

“I’m sorry your hair color has changed. I hope your father won’t be too upset—”

She barks out her laughter. “Upset? He won’t blink an eye at the change of color. He won’t even notice. Trust me.”

How is that possible that a parent wouldn’t notice his seedling’s glorious hair color has changed? I’m thunderstruck.

Olivia slides her hand into mine and squeezes. Then, like a young seedling, she giggles too. “You have an extra finger. It doesn’t quite know where to go when we hold hands.”

I huff teasingly. “I don’t have an extra. You’re missing one.”

“And a bleeby,” Brisa calls out, then the two erupt into a fit of laughter.

I can’t help the smile that tugs my lips.

“Bleeby?” Olivia asks.

I clear my throat. “It’s slang for breast. You’d call it a boob.”

She starts to laugh. “I thought Monesse Menga was unusual. She had a large shelf-like rack.”

“A rack!” Kyno giggles, pleased with the new slang.

Our laughter rings out.

“Livvy?” Brisa calls from the back when they sober. “You want to learn a song to sing for traveling? It’s called Ninety-Nine Twin Souls In The Stars?”

“Sure,” Olivia says.

The twins begin singing the childhood rhyme. “Ninety-Nine Twin Souls In The Stars. Ninety-Nine Twin Souls... Pluck one out, spin it about. Two Twin Souls will be born. Ninety-Eight Twin Souls In The Stars, Ninety-Eight Twin Souls... pluck one out, spin it about. Fourtwin souls will be born. Ninety-Seven Twin Souls In The Stars, Ninety-Seven Twin Souls...”

Olivia joins in. “Pluck one out, spin it about... six?”

At the twins’ enthusiastic nod, she continues. “Six twin souls will be born.”

I join in the next chorus, and the twins take the next. Olivia follows with her turn, her voice sweet and pure, her hand squeezing mine, her thigh pressed up against me.

“Love this,” she whispers when the twins are singing loudly on their turn.

“Do you think you’d like your own seedlings one day?” I ask softly.

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