Page 30 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
“Hmm?”
“I sing for hours. Or tell stories half the night, and still, she cannot find her way into dreams.”
He frowned. “That is not typical.”
“I wondered.” Zuzu’s leaves rustled closer. “She doesn’t like it when the interns pry, but there’s no one else. I was still small when the others fell, so I don’t remember how it’s supposed to be.”
Juuyu’s heartstrings plucked, but he hesitated to meddle. This wasn’t his job. Yet he found himself asking, “Are you concerned? You know your sister better than any.”
“Let me show you.”
Fox dreams were famous, the mythical trickster’s tool for entrapping the unwary. Few recalled that they’d learned their technique from trees, who used a combination of sweet scents and soft dreams to seduce passersby.
As a child, Juuyu had lingered often in the luminous dreamscapes that Letik created. Zuzu’s presence was similar, but her style was different. Trusting her to guide him to understanding, Juuyu didn’t resist. In his mind’s eye, he was in truest form, and Zuzu’s branches bent and twined to create a nest.
Flying to it, he found Fumiko’s considerable light contained within a protective shell. Had Zuzu wanted him to see an egg, knowing he was avian? It seemed only natural to drop into the hidden nest and cover her with his wing.
“You are her favorite.” Zuzu exuded confidence.
Juuyu found he could speak, even in truest form. Likely because Zuzu wished it. “I am glad there can be peace between us.”
“You should stay.”
“I will be here for as long as it takes my team to complete our mission.”
“Sister does not need a team. One will do, and you are her favorite.”
“I cannot promise this.”
Zuzu retreated from words, but her mood drifted against his awareness—piqued, pouting.
“While I am here, I am willing to help.” Juuyu asked, “What did you want to show me?”
“Look.”
Juuyu considered the egg tucked safe against his side. Tiny fractures formed and faded, evidence of Zuzu’s blessing. But should there be so many?
“Is it more difficult to hold back the years than it once was?” he asked.
“I do not know …?” Zuzu sounded frightened. “Everything is better when she is happy. You make her happy. You should stay.”
He spread his wing to cover both the egg and the nest. “Peace, sister tree. I am here.”
Zuzu softly repeated, “Stay …?”
Juuyu calmly changed the subject. “Look.”
“Where?”
So he showed her his weariness. How the deep darkness that should be lush and laced with borrowed stars had turned gray at the edges, flaking away like cooling embers.
“You are hungry?” asked Zuzu.
“In a sense.” Juuyu really had depleted himself. Perhaps foolishly.
He could feel the tree’s curiosity and submitted to her gentle prying. Zuzu was incredibly strong, but it was becoming patently obvious that she was also self-taught. Without the wisdom of a grove to guide her, she’d been forced to figure out on her own what Fumiko needed. Her sister’s sadness must be truly unsettling.
“She is hungry.” Zuzu sounded uneasy. “Sister is hungry for something I cannot give.”
