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Signy exhaled her relief, then said: “Tell Colibri that yes, I think the medicine I’m making for you is good. But I’ve never helped somebody with this condition before, and I don’t know how effective it will be. I am doing my best, though.” She thought of what Cora had told her, at the shop. The reason why Cora hadn’t seen a doctor. “I want to help both of you.”

Cora’s reaction was dramatic, immediate. She drew in a sharp breath, and her face contorted with grief. She looked heartbroken. Ready to fall apart.

“What is it?” Signy asked.

“She—fuck.” Cora shook her head vigorously.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, no—her feelings are just . . . so much, sometimes, and she really feels a way about—about me having—” Cora made a broad gesture at her own head. “Hang on, let me sit with her for a minute. Get her to chill.”

Signy watched as Cora rearranged herself, pulling her legs up against her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She didn’t look upset anymore. She looked like a person in meditation, holding her body steady in order to support her mind through doing the same. Whatever this was, it looked practiced. There was skill in it, clear intention. Signy was sure of this, even though she couldn’t see what was going on inside. Cora’s face cleared. Her breath came slow and regular. The rorqual calmed, too, her skin rippling more placidly.

Signy didn’t know what she was witnessing, but she found herself in quiet awe. There was a beast outside, and Cora knew how to tame it.

Cora took a deep breath, then another, and another, and then, suddenly, she was laughing.

“What is it?” Signy asked.

Cora’s eyes fluttered open. “Colibri wants to know if you can come visit her again but bring some of your plants next time.”

“Why?”

“She wants to talk to me while you talk to your plants, because she wants to talk to your plants. She wants us to relay a conversation between her and your plants.”

Signy laughed, charmed. “I don’t think that will work,” she said.

“I know, but she doesn’t. How would you explain it to her?”

“I can’t talk to plants like you two talk to each other. I can’t communicate with them at all.”

“Ohhh, boy, hang on.” Cora cringed. “Okay, she has ten thousand questions about that.”

Through the window, the rorqual wobbled like jelly. Her questions wouldn’t hold still.

“She wants to know how you care for your plants, if you can’t communicate,” Cora said. “She doesn’t understand, um—uh, different species not being able to communicate like she and I do.”

“I have to learn their signals in other ways,” Signy said. “I have to learn what wavelengths of light make them healthy. What sorts of nutrients, how much water. I can tell these things by the color of their leaves, or . . . if they get limp, if they get dry, if they bloom or don’t. I can’t talk to them, but I can watch and learn how they live. I watch their”—this wasn’t the most accurate way to put it, but Signy was gleaning that Colibri understood some ideas best when simplified—“I watch their bodies very closely, and I use that knowledge to determine what they need, as best as I can. But they don’t know that I’m there, I don’t think.” She frowned. “I’m not sure I’m explaining this well. I’ve never thought about it like this before.”

“No, this is good, give me a second to walk her through it.” A second passed, then several more. Cora wrinkled her nose endearingly. “She thinks that’s amazing. Ha—wow, yeah, you just blew her mind. She thinks you’re the smartest person in the universe.”

Signy laughed again. “I’m really not. I don’t always get it right.”

“She says you must be very patient to learn something like that.”

“I suppose.”

“She wants to know if that gets tiring. She does not like being patient.” Cora dropped her voice, delivering an aside. “She really doesn’t.”

“No, it’s not tiring,” Signy answered. “It brings me joy. There’s nowhere I feel more content than with my plants.”

“She says she’s sure your plants appreciate the effort, even though they can’t tell you so. She says they must know that something is there with them.”

“Maybe, but I’m not sure they appreciate anything,” Signy said. “There’s nothing to suggest they feel like we do.”

A few moments of silence. Sorrow filled Cora’s face. “She—ah, god.” Cora brushed her fingertips over her eyes, flicking growing gobs of teardrops away. “Like I said, crying in space is bad. Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?”