We do not save the world.

In fact, the world burned while we were out, and when we return home, it's broken in ways that our small minds can hardly conceive. Our family escorts us back to the ruined Homestead, but so does Natrina, with Illuet at her side. Suvi probably would have joined in the family reunion, but she's out with the Defender forces, frying a fleeing, fracturing group of outlaws to the north. Okari would have joined us, but we're going to need more time and a good case before we can get him out of the jail, where Heaven's Jaw is. Everyone else we've met along the way? You'd better believe they are never joining us for any kind of family reunion, ever. Maybe it's better that way. In some life or another, just by consequence of immortality, all of those Sentients are going to be my extended family. They will be siblings of my siblings, lovers of my lovers, and parents to my parents. In some sense. In another, there's just this, and I find that I like them both.

"It's quaint," Natrina says. "Our home was just like this, though we didn't have as much going on up in the trees. Your architecture is remarkable."

"It's better," Mahigan starts, "when it's not been burned, ransacked, and torn to pieces."

Natrina nods. "We'll be sending haemo for your reparations," she says, "Assuming haemo still works, which we believe is the case, at least for now. You will receive a steady salary for the rest of your son's natural life, and perhaps then some, in line with Vivian's clause."

"For extraordinary service to Omnia?" asks Harrier. "That clause?"

"That one," Natrina says.

"So I suppose I finally have a job," I say.

"One that never requires you to work."

"That sounds like the perfect job to me," I say. "It really frees up my time so I can do literally anything else of consequence."

"And Illuet?" asks Altair.

"I'll be here for reparations," she says.

"After that? Are you turning tail?"
The three of us look to each other.

"You should know I can never turn tail again," I say, wagging the stump of what was once my most glorious appendage. For once, the joke hits true.

For the day, we settle into ruined houses and begin the laborious rebuilding process. It will be months before real, substantive change is made. Suvi will probably patrol the skies for the rest of her lifetime. Natrina will stop in, perhaps less frequently, but she'll always be around if we need her ear. Illuet will talk to her about things she doesn't remember, stuck between lifetimes, and occasionally, she'll tic a bit to the right, afflicted by some half-welcome intrusion from one of the Sentients in the Sorrows, who are going to be there for the rest of her life. She'll learn to cope, never once regret the decision, and I'll be a little less noble about mine, but I'll adjust to that, too. For the next few months, we become part of a family again.

Nothing lasts forever. The days grows cold. My lifeline runs short. I know how long I have left, but Altair has a new code for us, Illuet has places she wants to be and Sentients she wants to speak to, and I want to talk honestly with everyone who's still out there and refill my inventory. This is why, with our parents' blessing, we pack up one morning. Aunna Engreaves is the only one to see us off, even if the others said their farewells last night, and she's there with that bird, who leers through me. It spreads its wings, preparing to take off from the perch of her shoulder, and I look to Illuet and Altair.

"We'll see you whenever you return," she says. "In the meantime, take care of each other."

"You can just say 'take care of Hawk'," Illuet replies, "We know."

Aunna Engreaves gratefully steps aside.

"So?" Altair asks. "Where to next?"

My eyes shine. There's already somewhere I'd like to visit, for inventory purposes.

The fall leaves crunch beneath our paws, and animals run wild through new forest, whose trees are still burned out from the harshest summer they'd ever felt. Still, the seasons are changing, and while everything begins to fall asleep again, it's time for us to start moving. A chill blows through our fur, and we move on with the harvest season, to the north.