Dogsbody by Diana Wynne Jones

bolts and the latch are horribly rusty,” he said. “Oxidization of iron, you know, due to the presence of water—”
    Sirius was amused. “Teach your grandmother, Sol. Can you or can’t you?”
    Sol beamed at him, still rather flustered. “Well, you won’t be able to reach the top bolt until you’ve grown a bit. You’ll have to wait until after my winter solstice before you’ll be big enough. But I can settle the rust for you, so that you’ll be able to draw the bolts when you can reach them.”
    This was immensely heartening. Sirius felt he could wait years, so long as he knew he would get out of the yard in the end. He grinned his wide dog’s grin and tried to set Sol at ease with a joke. “So you’ll help me to help myself. Is that how things work in your system?”
    “Of course.” Sol was rather indignant. “Why? Is it different anywhere else?”
    “I was trying to make a joke,” Sirius explained hastily. “I’m very grateful to you. Please don’t be embarrassed any more.”
    Sol stood in his bar of light and flared with laughter. “You’re quite right. I did feel a bit awkward having you for a creature in my sphere. But you’re not half as awesome as I expected.”
    “Awesome?” said Sirius, bristling suspiciously.
    “That was a joke too,” said Sol. “Almost. I shall have to go now. I’ve no end of things to do.”
    “Come and talk to me again,” Sirius called as Sol turned away.
    “Of course,” said Sol. He beamed at Sirius over his shoulder and walked swiftly away up his bar of light, receding and dwindling as he went. Sirius, watching, was reminded of the way the picture in the television dwindled to a silver lozenge when someone turned it off. For a moment, he felt quite strange to be getting a creature’s view of a luminary. Then he remembered he was a creature. But it did not bother him as much as it would have done an hour ago. Sol had left behind him a wave of warmth and well-being and joy, and Sirius rolled over and stretched in it, just as the cats did in front of a fire.

6
    S irius found lying in the yard easier to endure after this. He knew he would get out in the end. Sol had said so. And if he felt too bored and miserable, he would stretch himself out in the bar of sunlight, knowing Sol would be aware of him. Most of the time, Sol was too busy for more than a hasty greeting before he swept on his way, but this Sirius quite understood. He remembered being busy himself once. And he was very grateful to Sol. Sirius did not know whether it was simply talking to another luminary, or some power in Sol himself, but those vast green thoughts now seemed like a proper part of him and did not keep escaping out of sight as they did before. He still could not see them all. But they were with him, and Sol had done it.
    As Sirius watched Sol going about his business, he was inclined to think it was a special power in Sol. He was amazed at the amount Sol did. Sirius himself had done a great deal. But then his sphere had been incomparably bigger, and he knew that, whatever the Zoi was, he had used it to help him. Sol was a young and joyous luminary, but he did more than Sirius could believe possible, and he didit without a Zoi. Sirius began to suspect that Sol had more life and power in one lifting plume than many luminaries had in their entire sphere.
    “I think you were right to say you didn’t need a Zoi,” he told Sol one evening, as he sank toward the roofs opposite. “You’re rather an exceptional luminary, aren’t you?”
    Sol blazed red and gold laughter into his eyes. “So-so.”
    Basil happened to be in the yard just then. “That Rat of yours must have the most peculiar eyes,” he told Kathleen. “I saw him looking straight at the sun a minute ago, and he didn’t even blink.”
    “I told you—he’s very exceptional,” said Kathleen.
    Proud as she was of her Leo, Kathleen could not help wishing he would not grow so horribly fast. It was quite natural. Sirius was