The first stake sounded like an angry cow.
Gevren heard it from the orchard and came running with a pruning hook. When he reached the ridge he found Chaska doubled over, laughing helplessly, while Ashaun held the tube at arm’s length and looked personally insulted by it.
“Is something hurt?” he asked.
“Our reputation,” Chaska said.
Ysabet put her hand over the lower opening. The bellow stopped. Wind rushed past her sleeve.
They had washed the dust from the stakes, checked for sharp edges, and lashed them to the wind-fence supports. That had taken most of the day. Ysabet had expected the sound to require adjustment. She had not expected the orchard keeper to arrive prepared to defend his trees from an imaginary bull.
Suth smiled from a flat rock. She had brought her own cushion. Pip lay beside her, inspecting a small drop of mineral honey on a spoon. Gevren had unlocked one jar in advance of payment. The creature tasted it, drew back, then swallowed so quickly that the spoon clicked against its jaw.
“Slowly,” Ysabet said.
Pip looked at the empty spoon.
Chaska wiped her eyes and crouched by the longest stake. “Too much air. The slots are for a smaller current.”
“Turn it,” Ashaun said.
They turned it. The note became a groan, then vanished. At a narrow angle between those failures it sang a low, steady tone.
From the quarry a young drake answered.
All four women went still. The answer came again. The largest adult raised its head, then lowered it beside the nest.
“Mark that,” Ysabet whispered.
Chaska scratched a line across the support with her knife. She tied the turning cord to a peg. The cord let her adjust the stake from the safe side of the fence, beyond the drakes’ direct runs. It was crude and had too much play, but it worked.
The second stake produced a thinner note. Suth hummed beside it, trying the interval. Her voice wavered. Pip lifted its head.
Ysabet saw the torn fold begin to draw tight.
She lowered the spoon to the cloth. Pip looked at it. The fold loosened. When she offered the smallest smear of honey, it licked the metal with elaborate concentration.
The interruption cost them a note. Chaska had to begin again.
By late afternoon they had two sounds that quieted the nearest nest. The third kept falling sharp as the wind increased. Below, the adult drakes began moving in restless circles. They nosed stones, lifted them, set them down, and began again. One young animal coughed until its whole narrow body shook.
“We could stop at two,” Ashaun said.
“It may need the third to carry,” Chaska replied.
“The third may be making it worse.”
They looked at Ysabet. She wanted a clear answer and resented them both for expecting her to possess one.
“Take the third out,” she said.
Chaska untied it. The quarry grew quieter, though the young animal continued coughing.
The movement of the air was improving. On the far side of the ridge they could hear the alder thrushes through the narrow new current, a real migration song riding over the low flute notes. But the wind still passed above the orchard crowns. Gevren’s colored scraps scarcely stirred.
“We lower the mouth of the fence,” Chaska said. “Tomorrow. And move the third stake away from the reflected wall.”
Ashaun nodded. She had been on her feet since before dawn and no longer bothered hiding the way she favored her right knee.
Before leaving, Ysabet went down the cleared passage with a long branch. Ashaun watched from the buttress. The largest drake rested at the far end of its run. Very slowly Ysabet pushed the three scattered stones back toward the nest.
The drake raised its head. She stopped.
After a long time it lowered its head again.
She left the last stone a little short rather than cross the run. The young animal nosed it into place itself.
When she returned to the top, Pip was licking the back of Gevren’s spoon. It had found a trace of honey in the stamped maker’s mark and meant to recover all of it. Ysabet sat beside it until her own hands stopped shaking.