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By Eugie Foster.
Read by Diane Severson.

When we reached the south entrance, Nai-nai stopped. “An-ying, there is great passion in you,” she said. “A blessing and a curse, I have always maintained, that you were born in both the year and the hour of the rabbit but also beneath the auspice of fire. Fire rabbits are impetuous and brash.”

“But I–”

She bumped me with her shoulder. “Outspoken and discourteous, too.”

“I’m sorry, Nai-nai.” I lowered my head and flattened my ears in a conciliatory manner.

She nibbled my fur. “I’m not angry, granddaughter, but you should know we feared for you, your mother and I. Even your coat is marked by fire, and it is well known that fire rabbits die young.”

Rated R. for frank descriptions of adult events.