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The hills above the sea were low, old and gently worn. The road from the town curved and rose in gentle increments, and the couple who walked it hand in hand were in no hurry. Two children ran ahead of them, one long legged and almost adult-tall, the other small, short-limbed, and rounded. "We're here, we're at the top," shrieked the little one. "Now show us!"
The man laughed. "You're at the top, Pilun, but I'm not. You'll have to wait." The woman laughed too and swung their joined hands. She had a wide mouth, well suited to laughter.
"It's good to hear you laugh again," said her partner, his voice low and his eyes on their children.
She didn't answer aloud, but she squeezed his hand so hard that his eyes widened.
"Now you're at top too," said the small child, as the parents arrived. "Now show us how lambs walk."
The tall girl gave the father a sympathetic grimace over the little one's head. "Maybe he wants to rest a bit, after walking up the hill," she said.
"No, no, it's all good, Sadik," said the father. "Look, they walk like this. But you have to pretend my arms are as long as my legs."
He bent down and rested his palms on the dusty road. Then he walked his hands as though they were feet, and his actual feet did their best to follow. He craned his neck to look up at the children, grinning, and managed to leap-stagger his way forward for perhaps six steps. Then he overbalanced and fell into a heap by the side of the road.
"Ah, Shevek, dear heart! Are you hurt?" exclaimed the woman.
He rolled into a sitting position, dusty and half-smiling,. "A scrape here, and one there. Mostly just the ego was hurt, and we know how big and healthy that is!"
Sadik gave an odd little croak of laughter. "Oh, tadde, you have dust in the scrapes!" She shrugged off the small knapsack she wore and pulled out a bottle of water.
"Just the thing," said the woman. "Are there napkins, Sadik?"
"Yes," said Sadik and pulled them out. She helped the mother wash the father's wounds while little Pilun watched, her wide-eyed consternation giving way to boredom as she realized that nothing serious had happened.
"Look at the sea from here," said Shevek, at last, patting the larger scrape dry. "It's beautiful. You have fruit in there as well, don't you, Sadikaki? Let's eat the snack now."
They spread out the little picnic by the side of the road, a piece of fruit and a small cake each. The water bottle was shared and the view admired. Pilun, too young to be stirred by aesthetics for long, began to whine to go back down, so her sister led her off a small distance and got her interested in a game of Hop Boxes.
"You know," said Shevek, watching them, "It makes me sad that they have no experience of animals except fish, Takver. The lambs, the otter, the others I saw: those are the creatures who were born with our species. They evolved with us, from the same seas and the same soil. They are our brothers and sisters, our cousins."
"Perhaps we could get some video for younger students," said Takver. "We have it already for biology students."
"It would be even better if we could somehow have actual creatures," said Shevek. "I told you about the zoo. There could be a small zoo here, in controlled conditions, and children could see the animals, could even interact with them."
Takver looked at him, then took a deep breath and looked back at the sea. "I don't know…. In the labs, we used to have trouble with the red ears. You know, those slim. silvery fish with the red markings just behind their skulls. No matter how carefully we replicated their native water, the temperature, the plankton, still they wouldn't thrive. Hamor finally realized what was wrong. You needed a school of at least some thirty individuals for the red ears to live properly. I guess you couldn't call it loneliness, because there's not much room for a brain in a red ear! But still, they needed their brothers and sisters."
Shevek was silent for a few moments. "You think that the zoo animals, the pets, are lonely? The otter liked the boys. It would sit in their laps and groom their sleeves."
"You liked the boys too," said Takver. "Did being with them stop you from missing me, missing Sadik and Pilun, missing our brothers and sisters here? And you went to Urras because you wanted to. Did anyone ask the otter whether she wanted to come live with human people?"
Shevek turned to her, seeing sadness in her eyes and the set of her mouth as she watched the movement of the waves on the shore half a kilometer away. Perhaps there had been sadness in the otter's eyes too. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and sighed. "No zoo, then."
She smiled and kissed him. "I missed you too."