Jan ken po ... rock, papah, scissahs

A spell is something a witch knows has a swinging door. It can be cast, or be cast back. In an instant quicker than the tick on an old clock Pale in Purple knew she had come home. The giant birds, the Greys, told her story. Kaimalama Noa her Ancestor more sure of it she could not be. The longing she felt, the feel that could be assuaged with tincture of the bright yellow summer flower that turned red the jug of vodka. She was grateful for Hypericum The Sunny, the black clouds dissipated for awhile and she said, "Thank you."

But this is where she got off. Dumpling read the Border Witch's thoughts. "Is there any chance you'll change your mind?"

"No. Not even a pipipi's worth of a chance." Pale was smiling a Purple Bird's smile. It may have been the atmosphere of Dream that left her breathing deeply, sweet with a security that lit her without reservation. But Hi'iaka knew it was being at home that mended her lungs, now those of a bird that suit her from tip to toenail.

Dumpling as a hen started doing that head bounce thing chickens do. "Who will tell the others? Back in Salish, at the Cafe.."

Stan had pieced together the long story, the layers of kaona making backbone that made sense to his musical genetics. His comfort with melody and his life as scientist and plant man saw the truth. "Always give back, if you take. We came looking for a young life."

"In her place, in exchange for Shine I stay here." Pale glowed with that violet color of hibiscus she had grown to love in her last years in Salish. "How nice a ha'ina this is. Why don't you two jan ken po. Rock, papah, scissahs. Loser tells the Silver-haired Raven." This was the most difficult part. Now that she was a bird, she would have to live separate from the Silver one. Seemed unfair. But somehow, even that was not too high a price to pay at this point.

The old children's game all three remembered. Dumpling laughed to think of the sight: two chickens playing jan ken po. It would do though. A children's game would make this real. The journey was not yet complete. There was more to come. There was a child yet to be found. Leaving without Pale made the round squash woman sorry she had not gotten to know her better. So many crones, so little time.

The sulphurous scent and shimmer of Lehua blossoms signaled Hi'iaka's return. She kissed Pale Wawae in the old way, exchanging breath, her nose to the bird's beak. "You have found your place of lele and it is truly a beautiful ending. They will come with me. Honu has given me the next instructions. The girl floats. We will find her."

Stan was somber, but happy for his friend. He did know Pale well. Her stories and his music often entertained people of all ages. "How will we recognize you Pale?"

She had the answer, "I will be Clouds. All kinds. Slow moving. Swift. Changeable. I've always wished my body would have allowed that of me. But, a'ole I signed on as fixed, and so I kept the promise. But, now, I can move on." The two friends embraced. Pale said, "Give him this," and handed a small vial to Stan. "He'll know what to do with it when the time comes."

Stan nodded, Dumpling waved. Hi'iaka took the stitched skirt and snapped it like one would a wet toilet ... snap! The trio was gone.