Another crack crossed the green chamber.
Rain struck Jiang first.
Warm drops burst through the narrow split and soaked the down beneath his beak. They smelled of red leaves, salt, and the Bellmother's inner rivers. Before the last drop fell, white light climbed the chamber wall.
Frost followed the rain.
It sealed the crack, froze Jiang's wet breast, and spread over amber tissue that had not yet learned how to close.
Within the chamber, the small creature convulsed.
Four root limbs opened from its belly and struck the green wall. Its black-water tail curled around one clear gill. White combs fixed along the throat forced both heartbeats back into the same rhythm.
Jiang heard his paired call leave that unfinished mouth.
Not one note ever changed.
The sound repeated the breath he had carried before the season seed entered the cradle. No pain shortened it. No panic lifted the second note. It was his coat pattern made audible and nothing more.
