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The lovely sheltered beach where Dex had planned to camp for the night was closed. On their last trip through the Coastlands, they’d merely stopped to admire the view. This time, they’d hoped to explore the long slope of sand that led down to the blue-green sea, lapping patiently at the fundament of two high grassy peaks.
A fat mooring rope cordoned off the main access between rolling dunes. A hand-lettered sign read, “Please stay off the beach until pufflings fly.”
Having pedaled hard all day to reach this specific destination by dusk, Dex faltered now. They were too tired to push any farther. Coasting to the inland side of the barely bikeable trail across from the rope and sign, they parked their ox-bike facing away from the trail.
Their legs shook and their shoulders twinged as they dismounted. Dex tried to shake off both bodily stiffness and bad mood, to appreciate the mild evening, the rugged dunes, and the tenacious coastal scrub on this side of the trail. Gravelly bird calls carried on the wind, and Dex spotted a couple of black-and-white birds with bright orange beaks, as they ducked into hidden openings among grassy tufts that rose upward on one side of the beach.
Meanwhile, Mosscap showed no sign of being disappointed by the closure of their planned camping spot. It walked forward to inspect the sign up close, then followed the rope to a small shelter that anchored one end. Two old wooden doors had been laid flat on the lee side of a large dune to form a floor. Salvaged boards supported a tightly woven lean-to above those repurposed doors. The precarious structure would never survive a winter storm here, but it might provide welcome shelter from fall rain or windblown sand.
A loosely woven screen on the front of the lean-to, facing the beach, drew Mosscap like a hummingbird to nectar. One metal finger carefully traced the complex pattern of woven fibers. The grassy strands divided and converged to form regular gaps, like lace—but it had proven too delicate for such an exposed position on the beach. Large gaps with frayed edges formed jagged triangles pointing downward from both upper corners.
Mosscap studied the design for several minutes before grabbing a hunk of marram grass from a nearby dune and trying to reweave one missing portion of the lacey design. Tucking and pulling a single long stalk, over and under, Mosscap replicated each detail until the next intersecting strand was missing. Then Mosscap picked up another long stalk of marram grass and wove until it had reconstructed the pattern to the place where this strand joined the first.
By this point, Dex felt steady on their feet again, having stretched and stomped around enough to loosen stiff muscles. As the sun set, they unfolded the kitchen toward the back of their double-decker wagon and set both water and soup to heat.
While the solar panels atop the wagon clearly indicated the inclusion of technology therein, Dex had parked so their kitchen opened away from the trail, hoping not to offend local sensibilities by conspicuously using an electric kettle or hotplate.
Therefore, Dex was neither seen by nor could easily see the local who called out to Mosscap from the other direction, “Are you a robot?”
“Yes. I am Mosscap. I am also called Splendid Speckled Mosscap. Or it. But yes, I am also a robot.”
“Oh. I never expected to meet a robot. I’m called Toeph. Or they. I’m a human.” When Dex peeked around the wagon, they saw Toeph was a gangly youth with prickly short hair who carried a stack of baskets that piled up to above their head. Toeph, in turn, peeked around their baskets to better see Mosscap. “I feel bad about you reweaving that scrim for the blind. I meant to fix it first thing tonight.”
Dex breathed a sigh of relief. This local seemed more concerned about taking advantage of a robot that upset by its presence or actions. Dex set their tea to steep and stirred the soup.
Mosscap stopped poking its third long strand of grass into position. “I did not mean to make you feel bad. I thought this form of weaving, allowing for many view holes, might be useful for observing the pufflings, which I presume to be birds, based on the posted sign. I am curious to see the pufflings fly and also curious to replicate the pattern in this weaving. Is this what you call a scrim or a blind? Would you feel better if I undid the parts I recreated?”
Toeph set down their awkward stack of baskets and pushed loose hair out of their face. “We call this netting a scrim. We hide behind it to watch birds from the shelter we call a bird blind.”
“Oh, I’d been thinking of this shelter as a person-perch, but I correctly guessed the purpose of what you call the scrim.”
“Person-perch, I like that. This is indeed the person-perch from which I observe the puffins, who’s babies we call pufflings. I guess if you are weaving for the birds or to satisfy your own curiosity, that should be your choice. There’s no reason for me to interfere or feel bad about that.” Toeph arranged three long strands of grass between their finger and began mending the gap in the opposite corner of the scrim. They manipulated all three strands as easily as others might braid a child’s hair. “I was raised to never use technology to do my work for me, but if we are both weaving for the birds or for our own satisfaction, that seems to both align with our natures and to benefit the natural world.”
Mosscap watched Toeph’s fingers before resuming work on the near corner. It tried to alternate between grass stalks but could not manage to adjust all three at once. “Did you weave all those baskets you were carrying?”
By this point, Dex’s tea and tangy potato and carrot soup were ready. In most circumstances, they would invite a visitor to share their food, and they had intended to call Mosscap over to join them. But given Toeph’s beliefs about technology, offering this meal might cause offense. Besides, Dex was hesitant to interrupt. Mosscap might not find another opportunity to ask its current questions directly to someone from the Coastlands.
Toeph answered with a nod back toward the baskets. “I did. I apprenticed with a weaver before finding my current calling in wildlife support. Now I can combine what I’ve learned from both. Any pufflings that get turned around and fly inland rather than out to sea will feel safer resting in these baskets overnight before trying to fly again in the morning.”
“Why do some get turned around?”
“I wonder that too.” Toeph had finished repairs on their corner of the scrim. Rather than take over Mosscap’s chosen task, they gathered a handful of grasses and began weaving them into a flat circle. “Instead of flying toward the sound, smell, or rhythmic stirring of the sea, the pufflings will fly toward light. Close to dusk, that leads them out to sea. But I’m told—and this may be a myth, although it fits with several other animal behaviors—I’m told these creatures didn’t always live on Panga, a moon, but rather on a planet where a large moon reflected light at night. Of course, the ocean would reflect more moonlight than the land. The ocean here reflects more penumbral light on nights when the planetlight is visible. But tonight should be very dark. That is, unless humans build fires and such, which no one hereabouts would do after dark at this time of year.”
“Because they don’t want to confuse the pufflings?”
“Exactly. It’s the least we can do, as good nature neighbors.” Toeph added more grass and wove circles upward, turning the round base into a basket.
Mosscap stared intently at the basket, as Toeph wove without a glance, but only asked, “Did someone send you to rescue any pufflings that fly the wrong way?”
“Not exactly. Searching for lost pufflings used to be a task for local children, a right of passage once they were old enough to stay awake half the night. But my village has dwindled along with the puffins. Of the forty people living there now, I was the only child of my generation. Those older than me are now parents of children not yet old enough to wander at night. Most of the villagers will probably see me as a child until I become a parent, but I am happy to help the pufflings and other wildlife for as long as I can. Spending time alone or with wild creatures, generally suits me better than being cooped up inside. I’m not sure I’ll ever wish to be a parent, at least not to human children, even if that means some people will always see me as a child.”
“Would they consider me a child?” Mosscap asked. “I will never be a parent, but I have already lived longer than any human lifespan.”
Toeph squinted in the fading light, as if looking for signs of Mosscap’s true age. “None of them have ever met a robot before. I’m not sure they would speak with you if they did.”
“Ha! It is very good then that you are the one I met!”
Dex couldn’t agree more. Toeph’s perspective as an outsider within the local community seemed to open the way for the frank questions and instant openness that Mosscap preferred. While it was hardly a chance meeting, given the scrim the two had bonded over mending, Dex was surprised Mosscap had found such a like-minded individual in the Coastlands of all places.
With a shy smile, not quite meeting Mosscap’s glowing blue eyes, Toeph said, “I am pleased to meet you. Would you like to help rescue pufflings tonight?”
“If you do not mind the company, I would like that very much.” Mosscap finished reweaving its corner of the scrim.
“Tonight, I will appreciate both your company and your help with any lost pufflings. In years past, I’m told up to a dozen children would search the scrub and dunes that stretch from here to the village. Even if they missed one, the presence of relatively large human children, would deter predators that might eat a newly fledged puffling stuck on land.”
Mosscap looked back toward the ox-bike for the first time. “My friend, Sibling Dex, is taking care of evening tasks behind that double-decker wagon. Would you like to meet them? They might wish to help the pufflings, too.”
“I’m sure the pufflings would benefit from all our help.”
Dex couldn’t help noticing that Toeph spoke of the benefits for the pufflings and didn’t mention wanting to meet another human. Hoping to be as unintimidating as possible, Dex folded up the kitchen, setting out only a small basket of berries to offer their guest.
Clanking just a bit as it led Toeph across the wide trail, Mosscap called out with a wave as Dex stepped from behind the wagon. “Sibling Dex, meet Toeph. They help birds and make baskets.”
Toeph held tight to their half-made basket as they said, “Greetings, Sibling Dex.”
“Pleased to meet you, Toeph. Would you like some berries? I picked them myself this morning, before leaving our previous camping spot.”
“Oh, what a lovely berry basket. Was that woven from honeysuckle vines?” Toeph popped a single berry in their mouth, but their only comment on that was, “Thank you.”
Dex looked at the small basket they’d used to collect and store berries. It was one of their favorites for such tasks. With a shrug, Dex admitted, “I never asked what it was made from, but my mom sent it with me when I left home.”
“Are you from the Shrublands?”
“How did you know?”
“My mentor for basketweaving has a collection of basketry and fibers from all across Panga.” With that Toeph relaxed and their fingers seemed to resume work on their half-made basket with barely a thought.
“I met someone in the Riverlands who knitted sweaters as easily as you seem to weave baskets,” Mosscap commented.
“It calms me to keep my hands busy. Would you like to learn? It might be a bit dark tonight for twining, but there’s a relatively simple plaiting you could do by touch.”
“Don’t we need to watch for lost birds?” Mosscap asked.
“They’re easy to spot when they start to fly, but it might be best to keep watch from the person-perch.” Toeph smiled brightly as they used the term Mosscap had invented.
That was how Dex and Mosscap ended up learning to plait baskets in the person-perch. Once they had the hang of it, a couple of hours slipped by in companionable near silence.
Then a croaking cheep drew their eyes to a small white blob atop the grassy hill across from their person-perch. It became easier to see the black-and-white puffling as it stretched out stubby wings with mostly light undersides. It fluttered those wings the way Dex had tried to shake out their sore shoulder after biking intently all day.
The little bird repeated its rapid wing flaps several times before leaning forward and seeming to dive more than launch. It caught the air and leveled out, but turned inward, flying over the person-perch and directly toward Dex’s ox-bike.
The three of them in the person-perch turned and gasped as one when they saw the solar panels atop the wagon reflecting what little light this dark night had to offer.
“Gods around,” Dex whispered. “I’ll tie a blanket over those right away.”
“Good.” Toeph set aside their latest basket and the others quickly followed suit. “Mosscap, and I will go search for the puffling while you take care of that.”
There was no recrimination in Toeph’s words, and Mosscap seemed eager to follow them into the dark scrubby dunes beyond the wagon. Each carried one of the baskets Toeph had brought earlier. Toeph pulled on gloves, whether to protect their hands or the bird, Dex wasn’t sure.
Dex hurried to find the spare blanket they sometimes used for picnicking. They’d fastened it over the solar panels once before to protect them when ash from a wildfire filled the air. So they knew the blanket fit well there, and now it could protect young birds from misleading reflected light.
By the time Dex had the blanket fully secured, Toeph and Mosscap were heading back. Toeph stopped to let Dex peek inside the basket they carried. A small dark shape huddled in the grasses Toeph had laid in the base of the basket. In the dark of night, with its white chest downward and wings tucked in, the puffling looked like a tiny black puddle. Still, Dex felt a fondness for this brave little bird and was glad the others had been able to find it.
They all headed back to the person-perch, and settled into weaving as they watched and waited to see if other pufflings might lose their way this night.
At some point, Dex must have fallen asleep. They woke curled around a half-woven basket with the blanket from their bed tucked neatly over them. Mosscap must have fetched it before dew settled all around. Now early morning sunlight streamed in through the scrim. Toeph and Mosscap each held a basket.
Mosscap said, “It’s time. Do you want to see these pufflings try again?”
“Of course.” Dex scrambled up.
They followed Mosscap, who followed Toeph along a narrow footpath to the top of the grassy peak on the side of the beach near the person-perch. For some reason, there were no puffin nests on this side. In the slanting morning light, Dex spotted a few adult puffins, with orange beaks, flying away from nests on the opposite rise.
Toeph set down their basket and pulled on gloves again. Then they scooped up a puffling.
Now Dex could see the young bird’s face and beak were grey beneath the black band of feathers that ran along the top of its head and merged into the deep black feathers on its back.
Toeph supported the bird’s belly from behind, allowing the puffling to easily flap its wings. Then they swung the bird down low to the ground and swooped it back up before launching it into the air. This time the bird flew straight out to sea, wings flapping eagerly.
“Do you want to try launching the one you found?” Toeph asked Mosscap.
“Do you think I could?” Mosscap gazed intently into the basket it still held.
“You’re better coordinated and gentler than I was the first year I did this.” Toeph hesitated, gazing fondly at the puffling gazing up from Mosscap’s basket. “Besides, you helped me realize, in this moment we are exactly who, when, and what these little birds need.”
Mosscap turned to Dex. “You won’t feel left out? There are only two pufflings who need this form of help today.”
Dex smiled at Mosscap. Toeph’s declaration was weaving its way through a jumble of thoughts in Dex’s mind as they said, “I’m pleased to share the moment, just standing here beside you.”
With reverent care, Mosscap lifted the small bird from the basket. It held the puffling high, just as Toeph had, while the bird tested the wind and eagerly flapped its wings. Then Mosscap swung the puffling down before boosting it high into the air.
Without looking back, the puffling flew away, riding the sea breeze. Two humans and a robot watched, long past when any of them could possibly discern the puffling flying out to where it needed to be.