The bear yawned, pushed past a crust of snow, and ate a pawful of last year’s berries. “She thinks it’s Spring,” Fern said. “Her blood says so.”

Fern listened, tilted her head, and said, “That’s not right.”

“A conversation?” he repeated, bewildered.

Finally, Fern led him to the top of a hill. The sun was setting, huge and orange.

Fern sat on his floor. “In your book, does Spring start on the same day everywhere?”

Elias smiled, turned to page 184, and read his definition aloud. His voice was clear as a bell.

Fern smiled. “Come for a walk.”

Elias opened his mouth, then closed it. “They are experiencing local variations on a universal truth.”