Moonspear New growth begins

Tiuttuk could relate—empathize, even—with the first few words out of Zyraena’s mouth. She thought of Pauk, in her mind a little boy into perpetuity. She missed him but mostly in an abstract way; he’d vanished when they were both so young. She’d always felt worse for Sialuk, much more deeply aggrieved by her child’s disappearance.

She had never experienced the missing memories the pale woman described. It sounded very frightening to wake up somewhere with a big, black hole behind you. Treepie barely suppressed a shudder. She couldn’t help but wonder if recovering those memories would do more harm than good, though it didn’t sound like Zyraena had any real say in it.

I’m here to listen, the youth said, perhaps a bit unnecessarily. I can’t imagine what that must be like. I mean, I can’t remember much from when I was a baby. Anaang says that’s normal. What you describe sounds really unsettling. I’m sorry you’re dealing with that.

She thought about mentioning her brother in an effort to deepen this tenuous connection, though Pie decided she didn’t want to overshadow Zyraena’s plight with her own sob story. Not for the first time, Treepie wondered if he was dead. Maybe the patient’s sister was similarly gone from this world. Perhaps they’d met on the other side, amidst the dancing lights.

Speaking of light, Pie beheld the waning sunlight and noted, It’s getting dark. Are you still staying in the healing ulaq? I can walk you there.