Leila kept staring down her laptop screen, her attention batting back and forth between a pair of browser tabs. The first was of an Instagram album full of chicken photos she'd taken while she was actually time traveling. It surprised her to see it -- dozens of skillfully-snapped photos of her five chickens with little snippets of description, all adding up to a chronicle of their growth and development from huddled "miniloafs" (a hashtag she couldn't recall the origin of) into the huge multicolored clouds meandering and pecking about her backyard now.

She had missed a part of keeping chickens she had powerfully been looking forward to, and yet she hadn't. There were videos with her voice clearly in them. Pictures with her face in them. The other Leila done such an excellent job it reminded her of a shutterbug phase she'd had when she was twelve, when all she wanted was to become a professional photographer. Apparently this version of her had kept up with the hobby long enough to be genuinely good at it. She had followers. Plural. Multiple. Four digits, baby.

Her profile picture was of a teenage Biscuit, huddled down and squinty-eyed, with a flower on her head. The now-adult Biscuit was skulking near the sliding glass door and giving occasional glances. When Leila had arrived home she immediately felt the touching of minds, so much more powerful from the bird's end than her own, and Biscuit had been so confused and hurt by the lack of reception it was taking days to rekindle the non-magical part of their relationship. Thank God for all the pictures, as they were lifesaving clues on how to start.

Biscuit's favorite treats were cooked pumpkin and pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Her favorite spot to relax in the yard was next to the thready stalks of a milkweed plant Eve and Leila had decided not to get rid of. Their main bonding activity had been going on runs through the neighborhood together. Sometimes they'd stop by the Mercers' house (which was now right next to theirs) before their departure or return. The Mercers, also, had developed a recent taste for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

And, of course, there were the stories of the others. In early December Toots broke a bloodfeather and it had been one of the most terrifying experiences of Leila's life. Not two days before her return from her "travels," the hens had started laying their first eggs. Valiant had grown up to be a calm and attentive rooster whose presence added more stability to the flock than she would have expected. There were countless good memories in here and she couldn't actually remember any of them.

The other browser tab was the login page for the account -- she'd tried her damnedest to find it, but she still had no idea what the password was.