The apple core dropping from above surprises even Avisheh, and she looks up, startled and grabbing her head where it struck her, at the tree branch above her. When she sees the other woman smiling above her, though, Avisheh's mouth splits into a grin, and she lets out a breathy laugh.

"Not lost, just nostalgic," she says vaguely. "Though I guess if you look at my overall situation, being in a different world so suddenly and all, you could consider it 'lost'."

The orchard isn't quite the gardens in northern Tirazis, doesn't quite have the lush contrast with the neat pruning carried out by government-paid gardeners weekly -- the day when it was dangerous to be caught living out of them the way so many homeless and Parasitized were, and little Avisheh quickly learned how to avoid their schedule. But the orchard has trees, bushes, and vines growing fresh fruit that didn't have to mostly be imported from another world for lack of natural vegetation, and that certainly takes her back to her days of living in Tirazis as a young child, feeding off shahtoot berries and figs that grew in the flourishing public gardens, running errands for the glorified cult of the Parasitized.

Bad memories, certainly, but you'd be surprised how easy it is to be nostalgic for something that hurt you.