The following evening, Morel sat beneath the avocado tree just outside of her window. The large fruit was nearly the size of a basketball. Beside her, a wood crate overflowed with freshly picked fruit. She spat an avocado pit from her mouth, and it rolled to join the other four beside her.

  The fact that she was able to have such a fruit tree here was a miracle of genetic engineering. Her father had gone to great lengths to find a cold-climate variety, and even then, with Montana’s brutal winters, that this tree had survived for over two decades was impossibly lucky.

  She lowered her gaze and reached down, running her hand along Lord Fuzzbottom’s back. The black bunny twitched his ears and pressed his rump higher, increasing the tension and enjoyment his rearer gave.

  “Well, aren’t you greedy today?” Morel said, adjusting to scratch him right where he wanted.

  Across the yard before her, her other bunnies ambled around, rooting around within the grass searching for the small nuts she had spread about; save for one, Button had decided that Ember was his new best friend, and the pair had gone off somewhere.

  She had seen them go out past the workers’ house and disappear behind the berry bushes several hours ago, right before she started to make her phone calls. Hopefully, Button and Ember would be back soon. Her day was going well; having one of her babies go missing would not be an enjoyable way to cap it off, and Luke's little kitten friend vanishing would only make that scenario worse.

  Morel found solace in the fact that if Button and Ember did go missing, Luke would stay up all night with her searching for them. He was just the type of man to do so.

  She pulled up her data slate and ran through her checklist of people who could help out on the farm. Almost everyone she had called agreed to lend a hand, even while tending to their own farms and businesses.

  The few who did not had a very reasonable excuse. They were not going to work for free. Most of her former high school friends and their children fell into that category.

  Scrolling down the list of contacts, Morel noted the last few she had yet to speak with. She instantly wrote off most of them in her mind, knowing very well that they had their own farms or had moved off planet many years ago.

  But there was one person she believed could be relied upon to come out and assist them with general labor, Keyil.

  Morel smiled and tapped on the screen, thinking about her bat-like friend. It had only been a few months since they had last spent time together, but Keyil had been buried up past her wing claws in deadlines and due dates by her publisher that they could not wrangle time to shoot the breeze.

  As the data slate chimed and the waiting-for-call recipient screen flashed, Morel reminisced about the past. She thought of how, when they were in high school, they were inseparable, practically glued at the hip.

  From sunup to sundown, they were together. They shared everything: success, tribulation, loss, crushes, and even passions. Both were artistic—Morel with her painting, whereas Keyil was a master of syntax, language, and the flow of words to the page that made all within her mind true and understood.

  She was a true writer. One that no matter who picked up her work, could read the pen on the page and have a meeting of the minds with her. She, from across space and time, could place an image in your head and give it action, emotion, and as much life as any sapient being before you.

  In a dull flash of light, the screen flared, and on the other side of the call, her dear friend came into focus. Massive velvet ears stood tall out of messy tawny hair that flowed off the screen. She wore a stained grey hoodie that greatly concealed her slim build; the product of both genetics and her friend's lack of physical labor.

  Keyil yawned into her loose sleeve and languidly blinked. Her cobalt blue eyes shimmered in the wan light of her room. The data slate on her end barely allowed Morel to see the travesty of her room. Clothes were everywhere, hanging from the fan and piled onto her bed. Towers of rubbish lingered in all areas the eye could see.

  “Are those pizza boxes?” Morel asked.

  “Mostly,” Keyil shrugged, gesturing to the mountain beneath her window, right beside instant soup canisters, sticky novellas, and glistening adult toys.

  “Dimi must love you,” Morel replied.

  “Well, he does have my order saved, so all I have to do is call the shop and he handles all the rest.”

  “At least you are close enough to town to order. They won’t send orders out here,” Morel groaned, wanting nothing more than one of Dimi’s vegetarian pizzas fresh and ready.

  “I will bring you some eventually,” Keyil smiled, her sharp fangs peeking through her lips.

  “Well, hopefully you can do that soon. I actually wanted to talk to you about getting some help,” Morel replied.

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  Keyil leaned forward after stretching her wing-like arms. She interlocked the long fingers at the crook of the wings and rested her chin atop them. “You needing help? What is it? Is that man you have living there giving you trouble?”

  “How did you know about Luke?” Morel asked.

  “Are you kidding, girl? The entire town knows about him living there,” Keyil tossed her head back and laughed dryly. “Oh, and you should hear what they are saying, rumors around him are the talk of the town.”

  The thought of what sort of canards the townsfolk had come up with about Luke horrified Morel. They were good people, but calling them gossips barely scratched the surface of how nosy they tended to be.

  When she had first returned home, the rumors about her were rampant and humiliating. Grey Rock had drummed up myths and legends around her so preposterous that they should be published as fanfiction.

  Morel is on the run from the black-hats. She killed a jealous lover while in Italy. Or worse of all, that she had returned to find the rumored hidden lithium reserve her father had stashed on the farm before his passing.

  If they could generate such fallacies for someone they knew for decades, what horrible machinations whispered from lip to ear around fires, across countertops, and at the weekly town barbecue were unfathomable.

  For all Morel knew, the town thought Luke was a government spy using her as a cover story. Or that they were secretly going to elope and sell the farm, running off with the lithium they still, after a decade, believed her father had squirreled away.

  “I would rather not know,” Morel sighed.

  “Fair enough. But can you at least settle one thing for me?”

  “What is that?” Morel begrudged.

  “Is he a new Royoka?” Keyil smirked, leaning closer to the screen, keen eyes scanning Morel in painful close detail, knowing her best friend's every twitch, motion, and tell.

  “He’s not. Luke is very different,” Morel replied, her ears slightly drooping along with her eyes, shifting back to the rabbit at her side.

  There was a brief silence between them, one that to the casual observer would barely even be a footnote. But for Keyil and Morel, it was a moment of reflection and an admission. That short silence was an entire conversation that told Keyil everything she needed to know about the situation Morel was in—and the effect Luke was having on her.

  “Well, what is it you wanted?” Keyil asked, moving the conversation forward, knowing Morel would spiral into worry if she lingered too much on what she perceived as a problem.

  “I wanted to see if you would come out here and lend a hand. Luke has a lot to do out in the fields, and I need to help him. But we need someone who can do the work around the workers' house: cleaning, repairs, and the like.” Morel explained. “Do you think you could come and do that?”

  Keyil shifted and tapped her long fingers on the desk, with a light thrap, thrap thrap noise. The sound was distinct, clinical, and something Morel had heard many times in school. Her friend always did something like that while thinking hard about the prospects of a situation, whether it was getting something for lunch, a boy's date proposal, or what plot to write next.

  “I think I can do that. You do have a net connection there, right?” Keyil asked, leaning back and scanning over the chaos of her pestilent domain. “I would also need a room for my stuff.”

  “Wait,” Morel held up a hand. “You want to move in?”

  “Wouldn’t that be easier than flying two hours a day?”

  “I mean, I guess,” Morel said. “But don’t you have a lease?”

  “Meh, it’s ending in a few weeks anyway. And this gets me away from my landlord. He is a total creep.” Keyil cringed, looking toward the door conspiratorially, then leaning in. “I found him sniffing my dirty clothes in the laundry."

  “Why didn’t you report that?” Morel exclaimed.

  “You can’t beat 300 chits a month," Keyil shrugged. “Still, I’d rather not know he’s doing that. I hope you and Luke won’t do that.”

  Instead of acknowledging her friend's odd values and willingness to tolerate the perverted and deviant tendencies of her current landlord, she moved on, accepting that her oldest friend would be moving into the workers' house.

  “So when can you move in?”

  “I can start in a day or so,” Keyil replied. “I gotta sort through what I want to take and leave.”

  “Thank you. We really need it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I will text you before I come out there. But expect it in a few days.” Keyil said. “But, I have to go. My readers are expecting a chapter about Juyila getting railed by her…actually, never mind about that. But I will see you later.”

  For a brief moment, Morel reconsidered asking Keyil for assistance, recalling her friend's creative use of the word "romance." However, before she could fully remember all the details of her friend's active imagination, Keyil had hung up.

  Morel put her data slate away and looked back across the yard. Just in time to see Button and Ember returning from their misadventure. Both were covered in dirt, clovers, and, for some reason, were soaked to the bone.

  Button proudly walked up to Morel and leaped into her lap, curling up for a slight sleep. Meanwhile, Ember sauntered nearby and sat just out of arm's reach. Morel reached toward the little kitten, wanting to at long last pet the stray.

  She smiled as the little kitten approached her outstretched hand, sniffing at it for a moment. Its warm breath ghosting over her digits. She stretched further, trying to close the few-inch gap, but Ember, ever cautious of her, retreated and tucked around the corner, denying her warmth and acceptance.

  She sighed and leaned back against the tree trunk. If that little cat was staying here, she could at least pay her rent in snuggles. Morel was not asking for anything beyond that. A pet here, lap time there. Button and the other bunnies understood. But Ember, in feline stubbornness, would not allow her even a fleck of touch.

  As the night drew on, Morel petted and cared for all of her little bunnies' needs for affection. They hopped into her lap, got their pets, and enjoyed snuggles, kisses, and care, only wanting her to be herself and nothing more.

  The warmth the little animals gave her was something she sincerely enjoyed. When she had first moved back into this long-forgotten home, it held no warmth, only cooling memories of better times. But bringing them here helped her immensely; they made each night and day feel slightly less lonely.

  With them around, the farm did not feel like a place of safety for her. It felt like home; she had them waiting for her.

  “Morel, supper is ready,” Luke called out from around the porch. “I made some ten bean soup.”

  She cast her gaze that way and found him—with Ember cradled in his arms. The light shimmered from a small tag hanging from a collar he had to have placed on the kitten. Morel clicked her tongue and scowled.

  She wasn’t jealous of the little kitten in his arms; Nope, not one little bit. She was a big girl who harbored no wishes for him to cradle her like that. She would never dream of such an act.

  “Alright, I’m coming,” Morel said, setting Bobber down.

  Morel hustled the rabbits into their pen before heading in for a lovely meal made by a man she knew would run if she showed too much care toward.