Orcelito straightens and raises an eyebrow, turning to face Pitch. His arms are full with an array of yellow and green feathers left by the colorful bird, but all the same he manages a serious expression.

“I need these to make quills. To write with.” He then counts off the other uses. “They make excellent markers for sectioning off areas, as well as partition screens, house decorations and wreaths, and they can even be taken apart and used for thread.”

They’re also great for stuffing featherbeds. So yes, his bedroom is turning into a nest. And he’ll deny it, so don’t say a word.

Wait, he won’t give you a chance to! “I’m still looking for a writer for you. But it’s going slowly. There haven’t been many newcomers.” His brow furrows and he looks up at the blue Lifestream, his lips pressed tight. “In truth, there are more people vanishing than appearing.”