Before the sun rose, Hane was awake and making noodles. It was essential to make these noodles in the early morning. Back home you could make them any time of the day but here, only morning. The grain wasn't high quality here and couldn't hold its shape properly in a soup unless, once the noodles were made, they were chilled for some hours, and then dried for a few hours, before they could be boiled and served in broth. The broth here wasn't high quality either. The humans of Nefunuku seemed unable to appreciate real dashi broth and so they ate their noodles with something so thick it was almost soup, filled with chunks of taro.

When the sun rose, Mukudori would get up. He had been relieved to find someone who could make the noodles for him, since his hands were getting old. And Hane had been relieved to find somewhere to stay and something to eat. Until they had tried their first bowl of Mukudori's toshikoshi soba, which it wasn't even the right time of year for, and realised that Mukudori had added coconut milk.

Why are you not serving real food? They'll think all Tengu eat this!

Mukudori had grinned. Because they like it like this, and because I like to make a little money. Does it taste better than starving, Kujaku?

Hane had been working with Mukudori for three weeks now and was determined to not work another three.

Once all the noodles were made, Hane arranged them into neat little nests on their tray and bent down to slide them into the dark stone recess under the building that would keep the noodles cold. They wiped the flour from their hands onto their apron, then hung up the apron on the door with Mukudori's collection of kimonos in blunt human fabrics. Hane blew out the candle. The sun was rising outside, and the thick little window looked like the glass was filling with honey.

For the fifth time in three weeks, Hane's morning was all theirs.

Hane was still getting used to Nefunuku. They emerged from Mukudori's shop, blinking in the sun and the bright red reflections in the water. The hill rose in the distance. It seemed to follow Hane. Wherever they went in the suburbs that lay beside Nefunuku, the hill was always there on the horizon. Hane felt drawn to it, like they had felt drawn away from Sobishima. So far, though... no answers.

The wind ruffled through the feathers in their hair as Hane sailed towards the hill, into the mist. Their ears were full with the distant morning chatter, and the lapping of the water against Mukudori's canoe, and - was that chanting?