Silvertip Mountain peaceable

Aesop wrinkled his nose at the prospect of a night that only lasted a handful of hours. How could you sleep like that? How could you hunt? The Northern Naturalists must have had other ways of going about their trade, but Aesop would be crippled without extensive use of the stars.

Her next question was one he himself had given little thought. The strange winter weather patterns had been arresting that he had hardly thought much about the coming summer. "My guess is storms," he said, "wild weather, a different beast than hot."

"The sky, yeah, and some other shit. Got the stars tellin' me a good deal, but there's other signs. How the weather in the Fall is. There's, uh, caterpillars."