Conures, Wind learned, are curious about everything.

One afternoon he played with his metal coin, the way he sometimes did when he was miserable — throwing it and catching it, rolling it down the back of his hand, flicking it off to roll down a rock. The little green head tilted. Then tilted the other way.

Wind grinned and held it up to the light, letting it flash.

That did it.

The conure hopped, snatched the coin right out of his fingers, and flew off over the flowers with it — trailing a squawk that sounded, in Wind's imagination, exactly like thank you very much!

"Hey!" Wind laughed. "That's — okay. Okay, fine. That's yours now."