‘So what’s it say?’ Tupo asked impatiently.

Roveg traced a pair of legs in the air above the words, pointing to each as he translated. ‘My name is Roveg. I am with Tupo, a …’ He paused, seeking the right words in Klip. ‘An esteemed museum curator. Xe has a poem stone in xyr collection.’ He looked warmly at the child. ‘That’s the literal meaning. But if you add in the feeling as I’ve written it, it will tell you that I think Tupo is brilliant and that I admire xyr collection very much.’

Tupo was so pleased that xyr fur began to fluff.

‘So,’ Roveg said, moving along, ‘your poem stone.’ He picked the object back up. ‘You see?’ He held it so that Tupo could look straight down the forward edge of the triangle. ‘Right-side words, left-side words. This is an ancient style of writing. Before scribs and screens and whatnot, we wrote using sheets of clay. The writer would pour wet clay into a flat mould and inscribe their piece before the clay dried. It’s a skill that takes a lot of practise, but it’s still the loveliest way to write, because – here, look.’ He directed Tupo to lean xyr face in closer. ‘Do you see how the depth of each letter changes?’

‘I guess,’ Tupo said. ‘Oh. Yeah.’

‘This changes the word as well. These are specific directions on how the poem should be performed when read aloud.’

‘So what does it say?’ Tupo demanded.

Roveg turned the stone toward himself and began to translate. ‘All right, it won’t rhyme in Klip, and the meter will be awful, but it begins: Think of home when you are far from here—’

‘No, no,’ Tupo said, wiggling xyr neck. ‘I want to hear what it really sounds like.’

‘You won’t understand it.’

‘You can tell me after.’ Xyr paws danced. ‘I wanna hear you click again.’

Roveg laughed. ‘All right,’ he said. He lifted the stone to the light, and began to read.

Think of home when you are far from here

Let it be your comfort

Think of us when you are alone

Remember always our bright days

Remember song, remember joy

Remember the purple sky

Remember dark faces, old and beloved

Remember children, their—

The verse stuck in Roveg’s mouth and would not leave. He’d known what the poem was on sight – the lover’s farewell from the second act of The Summer Sorrows, one of Vemereng’s most paraded classics – but it had been ages since he’d read it. There was a reason he avoided Tellerain, and classic literature, and sentimental pap like this especially. He’d been so caught up in humouring Tupo that he hadn’t considered the dangerous territory he’d foolishly wandered into. Now that he was mired there, he could not see how to break free.

‘Is that it?’ Tupo asked. Xe craned xyr head right behind the stone.

‘Yes, that’s it,’ Roveg lied. He returned the stone to Tupo, placing it in xyr cupped paws.

‘That sounded really cool,’ Tupo said. ‘Though … kinda scary, also.’ Xe paused. ‘Mom says I shouldn’t say stuff like that.’

Roveg didn’t reply, though he did not take offence. His mind was elsewhere now, and this place was no longer distraction enough. ‘Tupo, thank you very much for the tour. I look forward to exploring your exhibits more thoroughly later, but for the moment, I think I should return to my shuttle. I’m feeling a bit tired and could use a snack.’

‘I can get you a snack, if you want,’ said the ground host’s child.

‘No, thank you. I – I think a short rest in my shuttle will do me well.’ He headed for the exit, then paused. Remember children, their shells still white. He turned back to Tupo. ‘It really is an exceptional museum you’ve built,’ he said. ‘Gora’s lucky to have you.’

He exited without another word, leaving the child to xyr scavenged treasures.

PEI

Pei walked out of the bathhouse a few hours after entering, enjoying the coolness of the filtered air. The smell of saltmoss lingered on her skin, and her freshly scrubbed scales felt smooth as soft metal. She raised her arm, admiring the intense glitter the sunlight created. She couldn’t remember seeing herself this bright since her early days of adulthood, that time in her life when her body had been at its absolute best in a way her younger self hadn’t remotely deserved. Ouloo certainly knew where to get the good stuff.

She glanced up at the sight of people walking toward the garden – Speaker, with her arms full of some kind of tech, and Tupo, trailing happily afterward on two legs as they pushed a cart overflowing with what appeared to be the contents of xyr entire house: cushions, light fixtures, ribbons, basically anything bright and colourful that hadn’t been nailed down.

‘What’s all this?’ Pei said, walking their way.

Tupo arched xyr neck toward her. ‘Speaker’s gonna make a concert!’

‘A concert,’ Pei echoed. ‘That sounds cool.’

‘Yeah,’ Tupo said. The kid was excited – paws bouncing, fur fluffed. ‘Speaker’s brought all her stuff, and her and me are gonna share our favourite music. Mom’s making snacks. Do you wanna share some music, too?’

‘I think I’ll just … be in the audience,’ Pei said. This event was not going to be something she could contribute much to, but she wasn’t about to squash the kid’s enthusiasm. Besides, any sort of distraction was welcome at this point.