"Ah, right, yes. Hail. I couldn't remember the word." Numair closed his notebook and leaned forward a bit, fixing Hawk with a somewhat puzzled look. "All right," he said, "why are you so nervous? Your idea sounds good."

"I'm not nervous," Hawk replied tersely, brow knit, and then added, "thanks." He stepped back a bit, one hand keeping the fence post upright. "Now would ya mind holdin' this post straight while I set it?"

Obligingly, Numair came over to brace the post with his hands.

"Thank you," Hawk muttered.

"Of course."

Hawk knelt to push dirt into the hole at the base of the post, while Numair stood holding the post, looking thoughtfully up into the sky. It was sunny in the garden, but Numair was looking at a sky heavy with black clouds, which had little threads of lightning darting through them.

"It seems to me that someone's been very cruel to you about...this," he commented after a long moment, still looking at the stormclouds. "Yes? Well, about many things, but certainly...your ideas, I suppose?"

Abruptly Hawk looked up. Even kneeling, his head was at Numair's waist level. "Do you always do this?" he asked. Numair peered down at him, seeming startled.

"What?"

"Just...drag out other people's personal shit?"

"Ah, er," Numair said, abashed, "sometimes, yes. Sorry. Bad habit."

Hawk looked down again. "Look," he said slowly, "lemme get this out of the way. I got a third grade education, an' I'm real dyslexic. No one needed to tell me I was stupid to my face, growin' up. I got it." The lightning overhead seemed to increase, the bolts wider and brighter. "Just don't be too disappointed when I can't help you much with this--"

He stopped suddenly, because Numair had placed a hand gently on his hair.