Rehearsal is not pretend-play. It is the work of don’t until don’t is in your feet.

You stand with Sable’s orange in your memory and two landmarks in your mouth: Spine chimney, hide-roof. Triangulation, age-sized: two angles, a triangle, a point that is the bird-hide and not Brask’s wish. You pick the second bench as the closest anyone gets to the nesting side. You pick the boardwalk as the watch-path. You pick the desire-scar as a place nobody puts a wagon until peat forgets the insult.

Tansy recites the needle: magnetic cousin, star-north, no mixing them in a hurry.

Keeper Sable nods once, which is a parade.

You can take this competence to the dusk fen, where competence will have to argue with a crowd.

You can still decide that a private right answer is not a town answer, and go make the rose do its job.