Petiza is seven and sees stories in everything: in the smoke of the comal, in the old doors on her street, in her little brother and sister's laughter. She tells them to anyone who will listen, and to anyone who won't.
Until one day she is told that's enough. Stop making things up. Learn to count, with numbers. And Petiza obeys… and something goes out. The colours stand still. Doors are only doors.
That night, on a branch of an old tree, the torogoz is waiting. Together they set out to find what she lost, through a world that sings, and on the way Petiza learns that contar has two meanings.
