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bring it here and dump it on you."
    "It's a matter of gift horses and teeth, I suppose." Laying her crutch down, Lain nimbly swung down off the trailer, her upper body muscles cording to make up for her weakened legs. On the ground, Lain reached up for her crutch, and then turned to rap Tinker smartly on the head with her knuckles. "Learn to think before you open that mouth of yours."
    "Ow!" Tinker winced. "I'm bruised there."
    "You are?" Lain tilted Tinker's head to examine her scalp, combing aside her short hair with gentle fingertips. "What from? That creature that attacked you?"
    "Yeah."
    Lain smelt as always of fresh earth and crushed herbs and greens. "Ah, you'll live." She rubbed the sore area lightly. "Give the nerve receptors something else to think about."
    Tinker mewed out a noise of protest and pain at the treatment.
    Lain held her at arm's length then and looked down over Tinker, shaking her head. "I never thought I'd see you in a dress. That's a beautiful color for you."
    Tinker showed off her rubies and her pistol, making Lain laugh at the contrast. "Do you want the tree?"
    "A fully intact specimen? Of course!" Lain let her quiet scientific glee with the black willow show. "I saw my first black willow my first Startup; they flew me in on an Air Force jet to look at the forest where Pittsburgh had been the night before. I didn't want to come; I was still wrapped up in being crippled.
    Then I saw that wall of green, all those ironwoods as tall as sequoias. Out of the forest came a black willow, probably seeking a ley line, and the ground shook when it moved. God, it was instant nirvana—an alien world coming to me when I could no longer go to it."
    A hot heady mix of delight and embarrassment flushed through Tinker; she wanted to hear more about how thoughtful she been, yet she knew how little she had actually contributed toward getting the tree moved. "I thought you might like it."
    "I love it! But not necessarily here." Lain motioned toward her house. "I'm not totally convinced that the willow is dead. It might be just dormant after a massive system shock. I'd rather not have it reviving on my doorstep."
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    The tree that walks . . . "Yeah, that might be a bad idea. I can get a truck and move the trailer . . .
    someplace."
    "What would be best is storing it at near freezing temperatures. The cold will keep it dormant if it's still alive."
    Tinker eyed the fifty-three-foot semi trailer. "Well, getting it off the trailer wouldn't be hard—I can get a crane to do that—but shoving it into something refrigerated—that's going to be hard."
    "I have faith." Lain limped toward her house, calling back. "I know you'll be able to figure it out."
    Ah, the disadvantages of being well-known.
    Stormsong was on the porch. She flashed through an "all clear" signal and indicated that she hadn't been inside the house.
    "Let us clear the house first, domi ," Pony said.
    She wanted to whine, "It's just Lain's house." The sekasha had risked death for her, though, so she only sighed and sat down on the porch swing. "Can I have the willow cut up?"
    "No," Lain said.
    "I didn't think so. That would make life too simple." Tinker swung back and forth, the wind blowing up her skirt in a cooling breeze. "It would be easiest if we could keep the tree on the trailer and put it all into one large refrigerator. I could build one, but not quickly. Is there a large freezer unit that we can borrow?"
    "There's Reinholds," Lain said.
    "The ice cream factory?"
    "I doubt they're using all their warehouses."
    "That's true." The hundred-year-old company was one of the many Pittsburgh businesses that had survived being transplanted to another universe. Elves loved ice cream. Being stranded on Elfhome, however, limited Reinhold's production. Things such as sugar and chocolate all needed to be shipped in Page 51
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