Storm Warning

Bea had not meant to apply for any jobs.

She had been flying her kite on the hill behind the house when a folded piece of paper landed directly in her hands, carried by a very small and extremely determined wind. The paper had a list of requirements on it, which included: must be comfortable with heights, must be patient with clouds that are being difficult, must be available Tuesday evenings.

At the bottom it said: *Tick yes if interested.*

There was already a tick in the yes box.

"I didn't do that," Bea said to no one.

The wind blew her kite in a circle.

She supposed she might as well read the rest.

The job, as best as she could understand it, involved walking up to the cloud pasture (located, according to the map on the back of the page, halfway up the mountain she'd always been told was off-limits), collecting any clouds that had wandered too far, and getting them back before the storm from the west arrived on Friday. The storm, the paper explained, was very grumpy about clouds that were out of position.

"What's a cloud pasture?" Bea asked.

The wind did not answer, but it pushed her toward the mountain path in a way that felt like an opinion.

She looked at the tick in the yes box for a long time.

Then she rolled up her kite string, put the paper in her pocket, and started up the path.

She passed the sign that said *No Entry* and felt only slightly guilty about it.