Bumble Piewright's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Bumble Piewright held the last seed in his palm and stared at it for hours. One seed. No more to trade for. He could not risk planting it wrong. So he asked the only creature who traded in seeds. The old squirrel in the pine told him a hard truth: pie seeds were stubborn. A raw seed rotted in the ground. This one needed roasting in dragon fire first, then soaking in living water. Get either step wrong, and the seed would die. So Bumble climbed to the mountain cave. Inside, a cold cauldron sat over dead coals. Beside it curled a tiny green dragon, no bigger than a cat, his wings folded tight. Ember Sweetscale did not lift his head. "You want fire," the dragon said. "Everyone wants fire." He rubbed his throat with one small claw. "It scorches me raw for days. I won't do it for nothing." Bumble knelt by the cauldron. "What would you take?" "Maple syrup elixir," Ember said. "It coats my throat. Then fire stops hurting." He nosed toward the cave mouth. "There's a maple down the slope. Get syrup. Then we talk." Bumble found the maple with a peg tapped into its trunk and a bucket hung beneath. A tree nymph stood before it, arms crossed, orange leaves bristling around her face. She stepped between Bumble and the bucket. "No," said Syla Maplebark. "You bring plain water, you get nothing. Plain water is dead. My tree tastes the difference." She tapped the trunk. "Bring moonwater. Living water. Then I fill your bucket." "Where do I find moonwater?" Bumble asked. She studied him a long moment. "A pool. Past the ridge, low in the rocks." She said no more. Bumble followed her words to a stone basin. Pale water glowed on its surface, soft as a low moon. He filled a bucket carefully and carried it back to the maple. Syla dipped one finger, tasted, and nodded once. She turned the peg. Golden syrup ran into the bucket. She handed it to Bumble without a word. Bumble hauled the syrup up to the cave. Ember drank the elixir, worked his throat, then grinned. "Better." He drew a breath and blew a thin jet of fire under the cauldron. Bumble dropped the seed in. It hissed, cracked, and split its brown shell clean. "Now the living water," Ember rasped. Bumble had saved the last of the moonwater. He poured it over the roasted seed. The seed drank it and swelled, its shell peeling back to show a pale green shoot. Bumble carried the sprouted seed home and pressed it into warm dirt beside his tree. It stood, a thread of green. He had done it. He had one more tree coming. But he understood the cost now. Every seed needed dragon fire and living moonwater. His own creek ran dry. To grow a grove, he would need moonwater by the barrel, and he had just used the last drop.