“If you think you will go anywhere without me then I, also, have not been clear enough.”

I sighed. I could tell from his tone there was no arguing with him, so I didn’t even bother. At least we were out of that little room. And he probably needed to stretch his legs just as much as I did.

I went by memory, and Skallagrim wordlessly followed, until we had emerged into the courtyard where we’d seen Aeshyr arrive.

Just like the last time we’d been out here, it was a hot and beautiful day. A few clouds, luscious as ice cream, drifted lazily across an otherwise brilliantly blue sky. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back, letting sunlight bathe my face even though I knew that I’d soon have to pull up my hood to protect my skin against it.

“Skallagrim! Suvi!”

I opened my eyes to see Jolakaia coming across the courtyard towards us. She gave me a long, penetrating look, then jerked her snout in satisfaction.

“You look well, Suvi.”

I’d gotten so used to conversing freely with Skallagrim that I almost responded in Finnish or English, assuming she’d understand me. But she wouldn’t. She didn’t have the webbing in her ear. The Bohnebregg word for “thank you” was a gnarly one, but I managed to get it out with a bit of a smile.

“It is good to get some fresh air,” Jolakaia said. “I myself was just on the way to the temple’s gardens to gather some of the herbs we Mother’s Hands use.”

At the word garden, I must have made a sound, or else displayed some other kind of obvious reaction, because both Jolakaia and Skallagrim peered at me more closely.

“Would you like to accompany me?” Jolakaia asked. She said it rather tentatively, as if the thought I’d want to see the gardens had never occurred to her before. Her gaze very clearly went to Skallagrim then, as if seeking his permission, but I was the one who answered.

“Yes, please!” Good grief, my Bohnebregg accent was terrible.

I winced, then turned to Skallagrim, finding him already staring at me. I blushed, told myself it was just the warmth of sunshine on my cheeks, and said, “Could you please tell her that I used to study plants where I came from? I’m a botanist. I would love to see the gardens and learn about them, if she’d take some time to teach me.”

Skallagrim mulled this over for a moment. I heard the distinct sound of a little bit of my heart cracking when I thought he was going to say no. How sad was it that so much of my happiness these days relied on a simple walk outside a windowless room to see some flowers?

But he did translate, and faithfully. I could understand every word, so I knew he’d relayed the message properly. Jolakaia looked taken aback and then she examined me with newly appreciative eyes.

“I did not know you had such expertise. Come, yes, I will show you.”

We had to go back through the building, which I now knew was a temple, not simply an alien hospital, to get to the gardens. The gardens were at the back of the sprawling structure, and I let out a low exclamation when I saw them.

It looked like something from a painting. More like art than real life.

Directly ahead of us, currently shaded by the temple with the sun behind it, were dark squares of soil occupied by what looked like mushrooms. They grew in soft, round puffs, their flesh jewel-blue with saffron-yellow spots. Just beyond them, partially shaded, were twisting vines with huge, heavy red gourds growing, kind of like pumpkins, but shiny as apples.

There was a path through this shady part of the garden, and Jolakaia led the way, pointing dark claws at plants as we passed.

“Spotted sprouts. Red vinefruit. Both edible,” she explained. We entered the sunny area of the garden, where things grew taller, with longer stalks and fluttering leaves. Jolakaia stopped and bent, slicing through the stalks of a plant with fluffy flowers that looked like they were made of bunches of feathers rather than petals. She held it up in the sunlight, letting the breeze ruffle the unusual and charming thing. It reminded me of a little chick.

“This is Mother’s Breath. It is anti-bacterial and anti-inflammatory. When you were very ill from your infection, we administered this to you both internally and externally.

I looked at her, and the tiny bird of a flower she held, and nodded solemnly.

“Thank you,” I said. Skallagrim may have been the one to have brought me here, but without Jolakaia’s help and healing I might not have been standing now in that beautiful garden.

“Of course. The Mother of Cotton bids us to help those whom we are able.”

“You talk about the Mother a lot,” I said. “And a lot of things seem to be named after her. Mother’s Breath. Mother’s Hands, like you.” I stopped, remembering the one-way language barrier, and cast a silently pleading look at Skallagrim, who thankfully translated without further prompting.

“Oh, yes. I suppose Skallagrim does not remember enough about it to explain.”

She tucked the Mother’s Breath flower into the pocket of her red robe. Then she pointed up at the sky. No, not just the sky. She was pointing at the sun.

“The sun represents Roakan. He is the Father of Metal and the god of war, glory, and bloodshed.” She grew thoughtful. “Have you ever seen our sky at night?”

“Yes,” I said. I’d been out there with Skallagrim.

“So you have seen the two moons. The large one and the smaller.”

I nodded again, and she’d spent enough time with me to know that meant “yes.”

“The larger moon represents Callanna. She is the Mother of Cotton, goddess of healing, protection, and peace. She has a daughter, Shara, the little moon who accompanies her across the sky each night.”

Jolakaia bent to cut off more of the Mother’s Breath flowers for her supply. She kept speaking as she worked. Skallagrim remained silent, but even without looking at him I could sense the possessive way he supervised our interactions with his gleaming eye.

“Roakan and Callanna are husband and wife. They are mates.”

“Really?” I said, not expecting that. “Doesn’t seem like cotton and metal mesh that well.”

Skallagrim translated, and Jolakaia’s snout tightened in a smile.

“No, they do not. The story goes that Roakan would not give up his warring, hoarding ways even after the birth of their daughter. He fought often and was always the victor. Which meant he killed often. Callanna could not bear to see so much pain, and when she could not convince him to follow the way of cotton, she took Shara away and she left.”

Wanting to be useful, I tried to help Jolakaia collect some of the Mother’s Breath, but the stalks were extremely tough and impossible to slice through without shears of some sort. Or claws. Without speaking, and without needing me to ask, Skallagrim came closer and his claws snipped through the stalk of the plant I’d been tugging at.

I moved my hands to give him better access, which meant that when the flower came away, he was the one in possession of it. He held it up between us – an obvious offering – but he didn’t move to give it to me.

He wanted me to reach forward and take it.

Flushing and having no idea why, I did. I tried to erase the sudden awkwardness I felt by hurriedly passing the flower on to Jolakaia. Skallagrim’s eye followed the flower until it disappeared into her pocket. Then he looked away.

“Ah, thank you,” Jolakaia said, not appearing to have noticed the odd and tiny moment that had passed between Skallagrim and me. She continued speaking. “When Roakan realized his mate and child were gone, he entered a rage. Not just any rage. A Bohnebregg berserker’s rage. He fought his way across the world trying to find them, spilling so much blood that it formed the mighty Bohnebregg river that flows today. And still, he fights and searches.”

She raised a hand towards the sun.

“Every day, he tracks hotly across the sky, his anger so bright no one can look at it for long. And every night, Callanna and Shara loop back around behind him, following at a distance, healing those he’s hurt.”