Thicket knows nature doesn't have a mother. Or a father. There is, however, an unruly flock of angels that seems to be in charge: quick tempered, spiteful, and straight-up nasty during a molt. One in particular torments Thicket to no end. Delta. She breaks promises. Gently rustles him one day, and strips him bare the next. Sometimes she plants herself next to Thicket until they become entwined, then disappears for days and years. When she's away, Thicket dreams her return, her voice the hiss of surf across a black agate beach, whispering to the others: Sisters, sisters, let him fall.