Mira was halfway up the Cloudstep Rungs with a basket of leaf bundles hugged to her chest. The tower air felt cool and busy, tugging at her tunic and whispering through the cloth-wrapped rails. Below her, clouds drifted so near that the lower steps kept fading in and out of sight.
She was climbing fast because she thought she had seen the first silver buds on the moon-vine. If she was right, Tavi would want them before the noon shade shifted. Mira liked being first to notice. It made her feel sharp and useful.
Then a soft clack sounded above her.
A tomato basket on the next rung tipped sideways. Red fruit rolled, bumped the mossy boards, and stopped right at the edge of a narrow gap in the path. Another clack came from farther up. Then a third.
Mira froze. One rolling tomato meant trouble. Three rolling tomatoes meant something had gone wrong with the hanging hooks that held the harvest. If she shouted for Tavi now, he would come slowly, careful and sure, and the fruit might keep slipping. If she scrambled upward, she might reach the broken basket first. But if she was wrong, she could make the whole line of hanging goods sway.
A tiny voice piped from a beam overhead. “Mira? Is that you? Don’t touch anything yet—I think the birds are upset!”
Mira looked up at the swaying baskets, the gap in the path, and the red tomatoes nosing near the edge. She had to choose quickly: call for Tavi, climb to the broken basket herself, or listen for the birds and follow the sound first.
What happens next?
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