Ori dipped low, and the rainbow rain sang ping-ping on Peep’s message tube. Peep whooped, “Faster, Ori! My feathers are doing a happy dance back here.”

They slipped through mist hoops with a whoosh, and tiny popped tomorrows sparkled nearby. Peep tilted his head and chirped, “Listen! They sound like ideas that almost found a home.”

Ori thought of Mira’s bridge and Grandpa Drift’s unfinished stories. “Almost isn’t gone,” Ori said softly, and the words rang inside him like tiny bells.