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The back of Delly’s van is full of balloons and loose feathers. All the left-overs of a successful event. Her heart is full. Her belly is full. Her life is full. She’s sitting in the front seat, listening to a voice-memo from her eldest daughter. She recognises one of the young people from the march wandering back along the riverfront, hair proudly spiked and cloak billowing out onto the footpath behind them.  Glitter shimmers on their cheeks as they pass beneath a street-light. The voice of Delly’s daughter murmurs from her phone “Night. Love you.” The young person stops, their attention caught by something in the water. Delly watches them as they watch, and together the two of them watch, as a little mother duck-dragon guides her little gaggle of babies onto the grass. All of them small and slick and muddied and very, very cute. The young person that Delly is watching crouches to snap a photo on their phone. The duck-dragons make their way to the little garden by the pump shed and disappear from view. The young person with their spiked hairdo and glitter and fabulous cloak stands again and Delly can just make out that they are smiling.