The radio began to sing in warped tones very quietly under the rain. Geneva's lights were lost on Hawk; he was somewhere else, enthroned by mangrove roots, dawn spreading beyond his fishing rod. Above him, Liya perched on thicker mangrove boughs.

"Hey, Hawk?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Why doesn't Em want you to learn to fly?"

"I dunno. Maybe he thinks I'll run of t' join up with the demons."

"...Well that's stupid."

The stoat glanced up from Hawk's bag, headlight eyes beaming. "Nearly there!" it said brightly. "Well done, mate, I didn't think we'd actually--"

The bag shuddered and dropped under Hawk. The soaked wings fell in a downstroke and stayed down. The stoat realized that Hawk didn't hear it, or couldn't--it peered up through the dusk to see Hawk's eyes shut, head dipping.

"Maybe he thinks you'll just run away."

"What?"

Hawk's shoulder dropped first, dragged down by heavy wings and the bag. The stoat gripped the edge of the bag, alarmed. "Mate?" it said.

"Without you an' Emry? Why? I wouldn't--"

The water hit Hawk with nothing more than impact--he could not be any more soaked. Unceremoniously he sank, wings limp, reaching for the surface imploringly.

"--I wouldn't last very long."