For Brin. Set pre-game, spoilers, Midori POV. An odd, quick look
at the family Uzuki.  You hear your father in your dreams. He
sounds different each time. One night he is composed entirely
from sheet music. The next, cross-lingual puns, and when you
stumble down for breakfast, you can't understand which voice he
uses to say good morning.  Your father always fills your
thoughts with letters, disconnected bumbling forms that are
printed in cursive, black and white. They don't add up; they
never string together properly into words, so much that the
village teachers have started to murmur behind their eyes about
developmental disorders and Mother has started to wonder about
what she has birthed. This silent little girl, who understand
more than she should at her age. The girl who crayons in red.
But you don't see much point in building order out of chaos,
turning abstractions into concretes -- not when your father is
just a sound on the tongue and a figment when you sleep.  Noise.
Your father's mind is white fir