We return to Bree and the star, Spark. She has been with the star for six years. It has housed her on one of the moons of its second largest planet, a frosty gas giant called Xian. The moon has no name. Spark has urged Bree to name it, to name anything whatever she might want, but she has refused. She will not speak to Spark, will hardly look at the star’s thoughtform that keeps her constant company.

Spark is only glad that her crying has ceased.

The star works hard to please her, learning her human language with ease so that her ears no longer bleed from the high pitch of his own native tongue, learning to farm so that she might eat, scooping the dirt with bare hands. She watches and observes the sweat that trickles down naked and sun burned skin. This amuses her, and she laughs. The sound of it causes Spark’s heart to flutter, and a solar flare ripples across its surface millions of miles away.

She speaks to Spark in the tenth year. Bree tells it of her life and home. It is amused to learn her ccosen profession, and in tterms dirt next to the growing crops, it begins to teach her the truth of things.

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