Rill answered the hidden homebell before the rain swallowed its third note.
He struck Slate's chain once, waited, then struck twice.
Far below the nursery cliffs, metal rang back through cloud. One note. A pause. Two notes dragged close together.
The next answer came differently.
One. Two. Then a late third note that sounded almost embarrassed to have missed the others.
Rill went still. "Harrow," he said into the rain.
Ilex twisted in Mottle's saddle. Pain tightened her face before she could reach the charred bell arc in Slate's claws.
Two blue strands remained caught under the soot. From beside his egg, the lone pale father crossed the ruined nursery and seized them between his front teeth.
He breathed once over the leather.
Then he pushed it toward the drop.
"Bracken's line," Ilex said. "Harrow braided that blue because he could never find black leather in rain."
