Days, months, years passed by. Ori spent them with the primates as they wandered about, following the food and water sources. They spent an amazing amount of time playing, and Ori played with them. He minded children, delighting in them as they learned and grew.

From time to time, Ori did overflights to survey the territory. He noticed that the big waterfall kept filling up the giant sea. It was steadily getting higher. There were lots and lots of birds, mostly of the small variety. Ori enjoyed watching their flights. The occasional annoying terror birds got a nasty surprise whenever they challenged Ori: it was a big surprise to them to run into something large, flight-capable, and at least as smart as they were. Ori thought the terror birds were a bad idea, and told Prajapati so. All he got in return was a mental shrug.

The days and months and years were full of tiny joys: discovering a new, fragrant flower. Following bees to find their hives and steal a bit of honey. Laughing, suddenly and for no reason. Taking Ardi and the others for aerial 'rides'. Playing with Ardi's babies when she became a mother. Ardi was a good mother, and her babies were beautiful.

Ori discovered feelings that had been unknown in The Penthouse: love for another, care for their welfare, anticipation of experience, a sense of belonging. Ori was happy.

As time passed, a few things changed. Familiar trees got taller. Babies grew up. The big sea grew. That was fine. But gradually, Ori noticed, Ardi's brown hair began to lose its lustre. Some of it turned white. Ardi herself began to slow down. She ran more slowly – and less frequently. She was still the same joyous creature as always, but in the mornings, she rose with less alacrity from her nest among the tree branches. In the evenings, Ori sometimes had to help her up the tree to join the others when she seemed to have trouble climbing.

One morning, Ardi didn't get up at all. Not even when the others called to her. Not even when the youngsters climbed the tree and playfully shook the branches. Alarmed, Ori flew to her nest.

Ardi's eyes were closed, but she wasn't sleeping. Her body, folded in the posture of sleep, wasn't relaxed, but stiff and unyielding. It was cold to the touch, not warm. There was no life left.

At first, Ori was unable to comprehend this change. How could this happen? Ardi was there, but not there. Carefully, afraid that she'd fall out of the tree, Ori scooped up the little body and flew down with it. Ori placed it gently on soft grass.

The others gathered around. They touched Ardi's body. They were much quicker to understand than Ori. They knew death.

They howled.

Forming a circle around the lifeless body, the primates linked arms and keened loudly. As they wailed, they pointed their faces first at the body, then at the sky, as if to ask the question that was repeating itself over and over in Ori's mind: why?

Who are they asking? thought Ori. In his confusion, Ori flew away, to a nearby hillside where it was possible to think without the sound of weeping primates. For the first time, he deliberately called on Prajapati.

Oh, Prajapati, he thought. Why did Ardi...die? What's wrong here? How do I fix it?

Working as intended, I'm afraid, came the answer. Why are you surprised? Haven't you noticed the leaves falling from the trees every year? The plants withering?

'Yes,' said Ori aloud. 'But the trees don't die. And the plants come back again.'

Not the same ones. New ones. Even the trees die, eventually. They are replaced by new growth.

'Will Ardi come back?'

No. Her children will live on and have other children.

'Will I die someday?'

Of course not. You're an immortal. That means 'not dying'. You remain.

'I don't want to remain. I want to see my friend again.'

You will. Someday. But not here.

'Where? How?'

I know this sounds lame, but…I have a plan.

'A Plan?' scoffed Ori, in no mood for Penthouse games.

No, no, nothing so pretentious as A Plan. Just…a plan. But you'll have to do some more travelling, my friend.

Ori flew back to where Ardi's body lay beneath the tree.

The keening was over. The primates had moved on down the trail, leaving the body where it lay under the tree. Before they left, they had covered Ardi with flowers and branches. Ori discovered a bunch of sweet-smelling flowers – her favourite – pressed into her clenching hands.

Ori picked up the body and flew with it to a cave under the hill. Ori took every one of the flowers and branches. It took several trips. Ori rearranged the branches to make a bed for Ardi, and laid the flowers over her. Before leaving, Ori leaned down and kissed the cold forehead.

Sleep, Ardi. Until we figure this out.

Ori didn't know where to go next, and flew off in the direction of the big waterfall. On the way, Ori had an odd thought.

Prajapati didn't call me 'child' this time. Prajapati called me 'friend.' As I called Ardi 'friend.'

The big waterfall was still falling, thundering and roaring its way to filling up the sea in the middle of the world. Above the fall was a rainbow. And in that rainbow, Ori glimpsed a familiar sight.

As Ori flew into the Paternoster, there came other odd thoughts: I learned a lot here. I gained a lot. But I lost a lot, too. Why does happiness come at the price of pain?

Dmitri Gheorgheni