Ripple, as Juna had decided to call the sick alien, was seated at the door to their room, watching the other villagers enjoy the rain. Much to Juna’s relief, the sick one’s room was dry and warm. She sat in a miserable shivering huddle, longing for dry clothes and the warmth of a fire. Ripple came up to her, purple with curiosity. The alien felt her skin, then beckoned her to one of the piles of leaves that served as beds. Scooping a hollow in the pile, it gestured that she should lie down. When she did so, Ripple heaped leaves around her. The mound of damp leaves, heated by its own decay, was more warm and comforting than Juna would have believed possible, though she still would have preferred a nice hot fire. She remembered her mother’s village, sitting in a circle of aunts, grandmothers, and cousins around an open hearth, warmed by good food, the tight web of kinship, and the fire itself. Her shivering stopped, and comforted by that distant memory of belonging, she fell into a light doze.

A touch on her shoulder awakened Juna. It was Spiral. Ripple and several other aliens sat on the edge of the raised ledge. Mounds of meat, fruit, greens, and honeycomb were laid out on leaves. They were waiting for her to join them. Juna got up, picking bits of decayed leaves off her damp skin. Spiral handed her a water gourd, and she washed herself off before sitting down to eat.

There was enough food for fifteen people or more, instead of the six or seven aliens in attendance. Meat from Spiral’s recent kill as well as several other kinds of meat, some familiar and some new, had been neatly sliced and arranged in patterns on a large polished shell platter. Three large baskets heaped with fruit, and another leaf piled with dripping honeycomb were set out with the meat. Sheets of leathery-looking dried seaweed, smelling of salt and iodine, two baskets heaped with mixed greens, and a large gourd bowl filled with a starchy brown mush completed the feast.