Raisa was in her cherry tree. She stood on her favorite branch, which her mother could not see from the house. She wasn’t hiding, she was playing; she had her old doll to prove it. Jill was mountaineering today, the rough bark of the tree a rock face as she searched for valuable cargo lost on the remotest parts of the volcano. She was dressed in a set of coveralls Raisa had sewn for her two years ago. They were much more practical for adventuring than the absurd wedding dress that had been her original costume.
Raisa would come down when it was time for her midmorning lessons. Leaves hid the sky, so she could not tell if the sun had climbed halfway up the rings yet, but she could judge the time by the shadow of the tree on the courtyard. With any luck, mother would not give her a big lecture