Kezia laughed.

Kip's father had always said that you can tell more about a person through their laugh than any other aspect of their entire being; then again, Kip had heard the expression in ten different ways, all suggesting that different facets were far more valid than this, that, laughs.

But Kezia's laugh wasn't what Kip had expected. He'd expected something silvery; something like a brook in a forest, a waterfall cascading, some poetic crap like that. A light, airy, fey something.

Instead, it was a sound similar to that of shucking corn;

a husk, husk, husk.

He found it oddly reassuring.

"What are you?"

Husk, husk. "We are you, Kip Pilgrim."

"You know I don't understand that."

"I suppose not!" Husk.

"So will you tell me?"

"I did. We are you. Just a different aspect. A different facet. For each human, there is one of us."

"Why?"

"Believe it or not, humans aren't the only ones searching for the purpose in life."

Kip blinked at that.

He picked a blade of glass, held it to the suns. They shone through rather like the skylight in the hospital, he thought.

Kezia nodded. "Yes, it certainly does. I spent a lot of time in that room with you."

"What?"

"I spent a lot of time there. I was there when she died." Kip stiffened. "When you woke up. Both times. When you fell."

"Why did I fall?"

We all fall.

He felt her words spiral inside his forearms, twisting, churning. His tongue tasted bitter. He heard nothing but the grass scraping against itself, the clouds brushing each other.

"The world is quiet, here," she said. The words fell like leaves on Kip's feet, brushing his toes. He heard the leaves settle on the ground, laughed, a stuttering, breaking thing; he couldn't remember the last time he had laughed.

"Why, yes; yes, it is."

The suns began their descent, the shadows lengthened; Kezia cast none.