She sat on the kitchen floor.
Not because anything was wrong. Not because she needed to process something. She sat on the kitchen floor because it was a Sunday morning in summer and Davan was on the floor with her and the floor was where Davan was, and Davan's preferred activity at seven and a half months was sitting upright and looking at everything with the grey eyes and making the specific frequency that meant: *I have noticed this. I am considering it.*
She was considering the kitchen.
Specifically: the bottom of the cabinet doors, which were at her eye level and which she had apparently decided were worth sustained attention.
"There's nothing interesting about the cabinet doors," Nara said.
Davan looked at her.
Made the frequency that meant: *incorrect, continue watching.*
"The
