wrinkled her muzzle in a pegasus smile as if she understood. Hroooo drifted through Sylvi’s mind, as soft and faint as the tap of baby hooves.
Hrooo to you too, Sylvi said, trying to say it quietly, how do you silent-speak quietly? she thought in despair, and the baby positively giggled: Hreee hreee hreee hreee, kicked up her heels, spread her infinitesimal wings and galloped around Sylvi three times before dashing off to stand behind her mother again. She poked her head out long enough to give one last cheeky “Hreee.”
Sylvi laughed, and stood up, and realised she felt better—lighter, freer—than she had since her father left—certainly since the night before, when she’d crawled into her nest of feathers feeling that she might never be able to stand up straight again from the weight she’d felt laid across her shoulders that evening.
That, said Ebon, is Hilililin, and she’s a brat. It would be Hili who had a go at you first.
She’s a very cute brat, said Sylvi.
The walkers set off almost at once, Ebon and Sylvi, Niahi, Feeaha, Aary, Dorheemiha, and Flanoohr; and the queen, Aliaalia.
There was a minor hubbub behind them—followed by the sound of tiny galloping hooves and an exasperated out-loud call. Even shouting, thought Sylvi, they have that musical resonance.
Why did I know this was going to happen? said Ebon. Hili bolted to Sylvi, hid behind her and poked her nose out to look at her mother, who was trotting toward them with her wings half roused. Sylvi could feel Hili panting as she leaned against Sylvi’s legs. “ There’s not much of me to hide behind, is there? ” she said out loud.
Lady, said Hili’s mum uncertainly.
Lady, Sylvi replied.“Fwif.”
Viawahah, said Ebon. Hilililin’s mum.
I— began Viawahah, and then stopped, obviously at a loss, dropping her wings and her head in a gesture, Sylvi thought, like spreading your hands and shrugging. It’s hard for them too, she thought. Of course it is.
Hilililin is a darling, she said.
“Hrooo, ” came a little voice behind her knees.
Viawahah’s head came up and her wings flattened and then folded neatly across her back: her upper lip just wrinkled and then smoothed again. She is a broliglag.
Monster, translated Ebon. It’s a small monster that gets into things. Like rats.
I am not a rat! put in Hili.
No, said Ebon. Your tail is too hairy.
I am not a broliglag!
Yes, you are, said Viawahah, and you’re too little to walk to the Golinghagah Hill. Come along.
I am not too little!
And furthermore, you weren’t invited, said Ebon.
At that, Hilililin drooped. She touched her nose to Sylvi’s hand like a good-bye, and went and stood by her mother.
The next time I come, said Sylvi, you’ll be bigger, and I’ll invite you.
Promise you won’t jump off anything and say you’re flying, and you can come now, said Ebon.
Hili’s head snapped around, and her mother’s wings began to rouse again. But—
I promise!
She can ride, said Ebon. He gave Sylvi a look through his eyelashes and added, I have a nice, broad, flat back, good for carrying passengers. I won’t let her fall off. He knelt, and then lay down, legs curled under him, and drew his nearer wing back. Climb up, small one, and mind where you put your hard little feet. Hili dithered for a moment, and then rushed forward and threw herself up Ebon’s side.
“Ggh,” said Ebon.
I’ll steady her while you get up, shall I? said Sylvi. She had already stepped forward and begun to put her hands out . . . and stopped. The pegasi had fallen silent again—that too-silent, too-still way they had. Sylvi curled her big strong human hands back against her body, trying to tuck them between her elbows and her rib cage where no one could see them, where she couldn’t embarrass herself or the pegasi with them, with what she could do and they could not. Surely the pegasi carried their babies on their backs sometimes? How did they do it?
She hadn’t meant to speak to be heard, but her inexperience betrayed her.
We have draia for many purposes, said the queen softly. Yes, of course we carry our babies. In the old days, before the Alliance, we had always to be ready to fly for our lives; and our children do not fly till they are several years old, and cannot fly far for some years after that. But we rarely carry them on our backs. There must be at least two of us to hold the baby while the bearer stands up;