Orien finds sanctuary, as always, in the foliage above her house. Lying back on the broad boughs, she stares up at the branches above her, splotches of green against a bright sky, with dark branches making patterns of jagged spirals. She raises a hand to them, feeling almost as though she could touch them. Her reverie is broken by a familiar voice. "Hey, Orien!" Sitting up, she regards the cheerful snub-nosed face of her oldest friend. "Oh, hello Tiero."