Chapter Ten: A Reply Mailed Back to the Sky

On the third day after the rain, the first bellflower pushed a green shoot through the soil. The valley arranged its ten teacups in a row and asked Milo to take a thoroughly damp group portrait.

Mallow decided to remain above the valley for a while. The cloud wanted to learn the languages of stream, leaf tip, and wind—and to wait for the first bellflower to speak.

Before they parted, Milo opened her yellow mailbag. This time, Mallow did not hide inside. The cloud pinched off a tiny wisp of mist and pressed it onto the envelope as a cloud-shaped stamp.

The reply contained only four words: I am still here.

Milo carried it back toward Everfair. At the noon square, her shadow boat was still half a step ahead. At the clock-tower post office, the first raindrop in the blue-stamped bottle bent the light into a miniature rainbow.

She placed the reply in the pile marked “addresses too romantic.” After a moment, she moved it to “delivered.”

Outside the window, a very distant little cloud released one raindrop. It did not fall into a bucket. It landed on the post-office roof, like someone knocking softly from the sky.