A sigh heaves down from the clouds of flowers over Byerly's head. Less mournful than it is annoyed. Sonia twists, keeping herself suspended on the branch, but turning so that she can look down at him. The top of his head, really, but Sonia doesn't need to see his face. His tone of voice is enough.

"What I meant," Sonia says tersely, "was that if you came here to talk, then talk."