. . .

Maria wanders the house.

She pores over Amelia’s notes. She teaches the children glad songs of space. Once, when a lizard-alligator bursts in from the sewers, she subdues it and makes the children boots.

“I can’t help feeling like I’m betraying my cold-blooded kindred somehow,” says Tom, wiggling his toes and experimentally stomping around the house in his new boots. He isn’t saying it, but they’re extremely comfortable.

“Children, children,” says Maria. “You’re all animalistic Earth-beasts when seen from space.”

Tom grins at her. The sentiment appeals to him.

“Mine are shinier,” he teases Jane and Linus.

Linus sticks his tongue out at Tom. Jane can’t seem to get her feet in. Edmund shrugs and the black dog pants.

<< . . .

. . . >>