I knew where we were now, I recognized the brush there and I could hear the creek off to my left, but I let Moonsinger lead a step or two ahead, so I could have a better view behind us and all around.

Compared to out in the tall grass, almost no rain made it through the branches to the ground. The top layer of dead leaves was damp, but not soaked like we were. I shook out my wings and hair, then puffed up my feathers to get them drying.

“Moonie…”

She looked over her pointy shoulder at me.

“Are you going to nest?”

She squeezed through some underbrush, her hard round stone of a belly scraping a tree as she did. It looked out of place on her tiny frame. It was a smaller belly than any of the witch queens or bearded ladies had gotten when they were nesting, but still too big for her.

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“You wouldn’t show me your mating dance,” she said, not looking at me.

“Come on, you didn’t really want to see it.”

Her hands made sharp fists at her sides. “You never take me seriously.”

“You’re so little, Moonie.” I sounded tired, more tired than I could even feel without collapsing again. “You don’t understand how little you are.”

“Thrasher didn’t think so.”

“Thrasher doesn’t think. At all.”

That helped some. At least I didn’t sound tired anymore. I put a hand on a fallen tree and vaulted over it.

Moonie stopped walking.

“Are you mad at me?” she asked, finally looking me in the eyes.

“No.”

She turned around and kept going.

“You should’ve shown me your mating dance,” she said, picking her way around some baby thorn trees. “I would’ve liked it.”