"This," says Isabella, hefting her cloud-pine. "It will just barely fit three if we all get along really well, without anybody's daemon getting in the way. Idania seems to have flying covered by herself."

"What gave me away?" teases Idania, doing a little loop in the air.

"The humongous flying apparatus you're attached to. Obviously."

"That's definitely it. I should have hidden the strings better, darn."

"Well, you've been found out now, no use continuing to deceive us. Anyway." Isabella sets the branch to floating and sits as far forward as she reasonably can to leave room for alt and spouse.

Spouse first. He sits behind Isabella, trying to leave Aya as much room as possible behind him. This may or may not involve cuddling his wife. Oops.

Isabella will obligingly slow down. She chats with Aya over the whoosh of the (newly cooperative) wind as best she can - basics of daemons, details of Milliways, trivia on Iobel, trajectory of portal capitalism, remembrances of Tayane, introduction to the world in which they now find themselves.

Aya's memory is good but not perfect. "I hope someone stored my notebooks - at least the relatively unprivate ones that I wrote in Jorten, if not necessarily the ones in Esevi and Sudre. It'll be much easier to reconstruct useful information with those than without them."

"If they're not stored somewhere obvious I can check with scrying. Actually I can manage that now - got some specifics about the ones you're looking for so I can aim?"

"What kind of specifics?"

"Not what's in them," assures Adarin. "I will not be reading them in any way, shape or form. The sorts of things that make them stand out from other books aside from it being you who wrote them. The cover, the color, the binding type, paper type, so on."

"The batch I was in the middle of when I died were blue for the long term private records, red for the long term Jorten records, and gray for scratchwork. The first two were sewn in leather covers, the scratchwork one had no proper cover and was just dipped in glue on the edge. The paper was - paper, I'm not really a connoisseur of paper types."

"Okay," he agrees, and then he gets to scrying - books written by Ayabel's hand that fulfill these requirements - do they still exist?

The scratchwork is long gone, but the leather-bound are kept some of them in a sort of museum and some in a church of Perinixu.

"Scratchwork's gone, but the others are kept in a museum or are in some sort of church... Thing. I don't know if it's all of them, and I've got no idea if people have been reading them or not, I'm afraid." Pause. "Also at some point in the future I can make it so that they only open for you. Because privacy."

"That would be kind of you. I don't expect Perinixu has been personally translating the truly private contents. Can you find my hoverbike?"

"I'm not really sure how to specify 'hoverbike' in a scry, uh... Unique things to it that do not involve its hoverbikeness?"

"...It's certainly the most technologically advanced thing in the world unless it's been a longer time than I suspect it of having been. It's sky blue?"

Not a ton of it. Some notebooks, the odd quilt/pair of shoes/ribbon. And one hoverbike.

Well, in her will she wanted it left to a fellow acolyte, but who knows what he's done with it since then.

Adarin finds it and frowns. Somehow he doesn't think this is where Ayabel wants the hoverbike to end up. "... It's in some sort of - barren wasteland thing. Lots of dead trees. A person is on it and is demanding - I think it's money, money from people in a little village that looks half-abandoned. I somehow think that's not what you had in mind?"