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Dear Aunt Rita,

This is a weird question. I apologize in advance. But I really don’t know anyone else I can ask.

So…I have a falcon changeling friend. We’ve known each other since way back, after we ended up on the same soccer team at school. Only, um, she’s done something very strange: she flew over me the other day—I knew it was her from the markings—and dropped a hunk of meat in my arms.

It was wrapped up in butcher’s paper, and had the seal of a local shop, so I thought she’d dropped her groceries and waited for her to come back. But she didn’t, just sent me a message saying: Did you like it? I got you the prime cut.

Then yesterday, she hovered over me with a package until I opened my arms out of desperation…and caught a roasted leg of lamb sealed up in tinfoil, complete with rosemary sprigs. It was still warm from the oven.

Does my friend need help? Like, should I call a psychiatrist? Please help.

~Soccer Fiend

Dear Soccer Fiend,

This seems to be the edition of the column with food-related queries. I have to say, however, of all the queries I’ve answered over the years, yours is the first one that has made me cackle so hard I couldn’t see through the tears.

I do apologize for my response. It’s just that I thought I’d heard of every food-related shenanigan there was…but no, the raptors always take it to the next level. I suppose bears would do the same if they could fly—literally food bomb the targets of their ardor.

You are beloved, my dear Fiend. However, if you don’t reciprocate your friend’s affections, this could get awkward.

If that is the case, then the next time you receive a delivery, you should go immediately to their nesting place and gently hand it back to them saying thank you, but that you don’t need it.

If you do reciprocate…well, invite her to share in the feast.

~Aunt Rita

—From the February 2073 issue of Wild Woman magazine: “Skin Privileges, Style if she let him, Adam could spend an hour just combing Eleri’s hair or massaging oil into every inch of her skin until she was drowsy and half-asleep and all tended.

But even had food held no meaning for him beyond nourishment, he’d have wanted to give it to her, because it was a small thing that brought great joy.

It was clear from her thin but strong build that she ate only to fuel her bones and muscles and brain.

She didn’t grab a handful of strawberries to snack on because they were sweet and juicy, or sink her teeth into a sandwich overfilled to the brim with her favorite fillings.

What had been done to her, the damage to her brain?

Adam couldn’t turn back the clock on that, but he could show her small joys bit by tempting bit.

He began by leading her to where today’s kitchen team had laid out the food and let her choose what she wanted.

She stuck to relatively bland items, though she did also accept the bowl of fresh-cut fruit salad he scooped up for her.

Small bites of sweetness, crisp and colorful.

While she finished making up her plate, he went into the kitchen, to return with a packet of nutrients she could mix into water or juice; the clan stocked it for Psy friends like Sascha and Judd. “I know you need it after that psychic burn,” he said.

“Yes, nothing else works as well.”

Once he’d grabbed some food, too, he took them over to where Dahlia sat alone at a table that caught the edge of the sunshine. The second had shot them an avidly curious gaze when they walked in, but not intruded—not because she was a falcon, but because she was Dahlia.

Adam’s clanmates could be as nosy as a flock of geese at times.

“You’re raptors!” he’d been known to yell while trying not to laugh. “Have some decorum!”

Now, he slipped in beside Dahlia so that Eleri could have the seat across from him that permitted a view out of the opening into the natural splendor of the canyon. Much as he wanted to hoard Eleri to himself, he wanted more to bring her into his clan, make her part of its living, beating heart.