Barra dashed home, her long tail rippling behind her as her claws chewed bark.
Her family’s den was in the Nest area of the Loft with the many other families of Arboreals in the Umberwood. The Nest radiated out from the trunk, with dens spread wide from the center, and also above and below one another. The large area described a shape roughly similar to a squashed pumpkin. There was no hard boundary between the Nest and the rest of the Loft; like the Umberwood, it grew and changed. Barra and her mother lived on the outskirts, closer to the Middens than the older families deep in the Nest. Even so, from where Barra and her friends were playing, she had quite the distance to run. She went fast, maybe faster than ever before, but she was late as she slid inside.
Barra’s mother stood at the waterfull flower in the kitchen facing away from the entrance. Two woven satchels were slung low across her hips. She removed a fruit from one satchel, dunked it into the waterfull, washed it carefully—rubbing it meticulously with both hands—rinsed it, and then placed it in her other satchel.
Brace Swiftspur was considered an imposing presence among other Listlespurs, she carried herself so confidently. Her Thread was a tough, variegated braid wrapped in fine coils over the entire length of her tail. She’d already begun overlapping. Still, standing there methodically washing fruit, she seemed incapable of a harsh thought. Barra knew better. Her mother rarely acted in anger, but she wielded disappointment like a weapon, and she was a master. Barra dreaded seeing that disappointment directed at her. Sometimes she thought she’d prefer her mother to be flat out angry once in a while—seemed easier than guilt.
Signs of aging had appeared prematurely in her mother: thinning fur and fading whiskers that were turning gray at the tips. Barra knew it didn’t make sense, but she felt at least partially responsible for the early weathering.
Hoping her mother hadn’t noticed the time—even though their dayflower grew right over the waterfull—Barra tried to stealth by unseen. Just when she thought she’d made it past, her mother leaned down and glared at her.
Yep. She was displeased.
Without releasing her daughter from her disapproving gaze, Brace pulled down the drainpetal on the back of the waterfull. Dirty water ran out over the lip and down into a little garden at her feet. “Where have you been, dear?” her mother asked pointedly.
Brace released the thick, waxy drainpetal, and it slowly folded up and back into its neighboring petals. The drainpetal excreted a sticky resin to create a watertight seal, and the deep bowl of the waterfull flower began filling again with fresh water.
Barra looked around like she was going to find an excuse floating in the air. Finally, she stammered, “Well, you know, where I told you I’d be, out playing with Tory and Plicks. The two nicest boys—that’s what you always call them. Responsible friends, I think you said? Well, I was with them.” She paused, gaining confidence, and went on, “Right after Coppice, exactly as we agreed. No dawdling or loitering about. Like. I. Promised.” Stepping toward her mother, she reached into the clean bag of fruits and selected a blue one, “Indigobblyberries? My favorite!” She held it up to her nose. “Thank you, Mom!” Barra gave her a big hug.
Barra’s mom wasn’t fooled by her daughter’s affectionate misdirection, and she did not return the hug. Instead, she asked, “Where were you playing with your nice and responsible friends?”
“Uh, well, we weren’t playing in the Reach,” Barra offered quickly. “I know you don’t like it when—”
“Barra.” Her mother’s patience was thin.
“Aw, mom.” Barra backed away from her attempted hug. She was caught. She managed to look hurt about it too, but her mother only waited for admission.
Barra gave up. As she put the indigobblyberry back in her mother’s satchel, she said, “We were in the Middens.” Her mother seemed about to speak, so Barra interjected, “BUT, I was out of the Middens before nightbloom. There was at least a measure left of Watering. At least!”
Brace knelt down and looked her daughter in the eye, “That’s not the point, Barra. The Middens is unsafe any time of day. Especially this late. You know better.”
A little know-it-all look crept across Barra’s face, and she couldn’t help but utter, “That’s a myth. It’s the same at night as it is during the day—”
“So, obviously you’ve been there after Watering, huh?” Her mother stood up, agitated. “Wash up,” she said as she turned away. “We’re eating soon, and then I’m going to watch you do your homework, and then you’re going to bed.”
“Aw, Mom! Come on! I was just…” Barra stopped her plea short when she saw her mother’s expression. There was no room for argument there.
Shoulders sagging, Barra walked toward her nestroom. She pulled aside the doorweave, but before leaving the kitchen, she turned back to her mother and said, “I’m sorry.”
Barra’s nestroom was small, but she had her own waterfull and a nectarsweet too. A weave of rare soft ferns covered the entire floor and grew various different flowers with the passing seasons—as the ring grows. The bedding was comforting, and she loved rolling around on it.
Washing up, Barra prepared herself for what she expected to be a long tense dinner. She knew that she’d gone too far, been late too many times. It was plain that her mother had had enough. Barra took a deep breath, shook herself dry, and then went back out to the kitchen.
Dinner was even more strained than expected. Mother and daughter exchanged pleasantries and said little otherwise. When they finished, they cleaned up together, and it seemed to Barra that her mother was distracted—distracted by more than just her daughter’s disregard for the rules. Barra got up the courage to ask, “What’s the matter?”
Brace scrutinized her daughter’s face carefully, and said thoughtfully, “I visited a dozen of the best gardens today. The fruits were… well, what did you think of dinner?”
Barra wasn’t sure what to say. Dinner was typical, she thought. She thought they’d had better, but she felt bad for even thinking it. She wouldn’t have said dinner was flavorless exactly, but there wasn’t much to it. “It was okay,” she admitted.
Her mother was not offended, and nodded as though she’d expected that answer.
“I’m sure it wasn’t anything you did, Mom,” Barra shrugged and smiled wanly. “Sometimes the berries aren’t any good.”
“Yes, yes, you’re probably right,” Brace said, coming back to the conversation. Dismissing her thoughts on the subject, she went on, “Okay, enough chit chat. Homework and bed for you!” She added as though she’d been repeating it for rings, “And bathe properly! For the sake of the Olwones!”
Later that night, Barra didn’t have to do her homework with her mother after all. She thought about bringing it up, but figured it was better to leave it alone and just be grateful. Besides, it gave her a chance to sneak back into her father’s study.
The port in the ceiling of Barra’s nestroom was difficult to reach, especially silently, but Barra was practiced, and knew the quiet holds by heart. She was out of her room and on top of the roof in no time. From there, she made her way back to the study.
Everything was exactly as she’d left it. She crept quietly over to the sheaves and leaves of the journal and sorted through them again. Reverently, she put everything back in order, and excepting the first sheave, she placed the rest in the cubbyhole behind the desk. She read from the beginning, savoring every word again. The voice behind the words still didn’t match up with how she imagined her father, but she read on, hoping to know him better.
Barra lost herself in her father’s descriptions of the Middens, and his seemingly random, desperate interstitials. There was no dayflower growing in the study, so she had no idea the day was ending until it was over, until the Buckle began. The low rumble pulsed through the wood up into her bones, and even though it felt the same as it did every night, it took her several moments to comprehend what it meant.
Cerulean was buckling. The Umberwood was floating closer to its neighboring Great Trees, millions of branches intertwining and sliding around each other, closing the gaps in the canopy. The world was exhaling, the ocean shrinking toward the sun, and so the trees embraced one another.
The Buckle didn’t take long to bring everyone closer together, but it also isolated; thoroughfares were closed off, intersections blocked, windows shut, and ports sealed—including those opening into a young Listlespur’s nestroom.
Barra palmed the next few leaves from the sheave, rolled them together, and placed the slender bundle in her mouth. She bit in gingerly, and shook her head to check the roll was secure, and it was. Not a moment too soon, she dashed out through the narrowing window.
The rumbling continued. The entire treescape swayed. The wood was becoming unnavigable, twisting branches sliding into the open spaces. Barra only had to get back to her nestroom, but the roof was shifting beneath her feet. Her mother’s nestroom roof was the fastest way across, and Barra decided to risk it. She snuck over her mother’s roof, hoping she was still in the kitchen.
Barra saw her nestroom’s port steadily closing. She moved faster, lost her balance, and then tumbled. If her mother hadn’t heard that, she wouldn’t hear anything, so Barra gave up trying to be quiet, took two leaps, and then dove into her room.
Landing louder than she’d wanted, Barra winced and waited for her mother to come barging in. But her mother didn’t appear.
Barra released the leaves from her mouth and stretched her neck to gaze through the almost closed ceiling port. There wasn’t much left of the dark purple sky, only patches, but she recognized the patterns of twinkling lights through them. Usually before bed, before the Buckle, she snuck outside to gaze at those twinkling lights, but that night she caught only a glimpse before the small viewport shut completely for sleep.
Her nestroom swayed gently as the Umberwood Tree came to a stop. Several of her flowers were brighter after the buckle, and Barra brushed their petals so they would close for the night, saving one for reading. Only muted ambers and blues escaped the flowers after that.
Cozy in her nestroom, Barra thought about her father. She felt like she’d already read a lot, but she was only in the middle of the first sheave! So much more for her to learn about him. She didn’t understand everything in the leaves she’d brought back, and the drawings weren’t always helpful either, but she loved how her father described exploring the Middens, the way it seemed to call to him. The old ruins had always called to her, too.
Exhausted, Barra tucked the leaves away, close but safe. She circled her bedding a few times, and then settled into the warmth reflected back by the downy ferns. She thought of adventures she hadn’t had yet, and when she slept, she dreamt of a world that was familiar, but that she’d never seen. Its bright flowers dazzled, its colors danced, and she explored with her father.
The world’s slow inhale after the Buckle, the expansion of the Cerulean Ocean, was already beginning. Steadily, the trees were moving apart. By morning the Loft would be open again, and the Arboreals would wake up from their dreams to begin another dimly lit day.