148 The Meadow survive harsh conditions by climbing trees and latching onto the support of another growing thing. “You made an arrangement for Paul?” I have trouble breathing, finding air to make the words. “Without asking him? Without consulting me?”My legs begin to tremble. “Oh, Tala,” I say. “What have you done?” In the mirrored glass of her small altar, I see the orchid petals, yellowed by the flame of candles she is lighting.