Clover Carrington's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Clover reached the farmstand before sunrise. He carried his key and his thirty carrots, but the empty counter still mocked him. He had a place to bake and nothing to bake with. The vendor's own oven burned everything. He needed his own, and he had no coins to buy one. He set down his basket and stared at the flower boxes, thinking hard. Then the vines above the counter moved. A cascade of purple blooms hung from the awning, and among the flowers dangled fat orange carrots. Clover had never seen it there before. Two bunnies stepped from behind the baskets, dressed like royalty. Their fur carried soft heart patterns, and small crowns sat between their long ears. They watched him with shimmering eyes. "You want to bake," said the brown-eyed one. "But you have no oven." "And no coins," added the blue-eyed one, tilting her head. Clover kept his face still. Strangers rarely offered help without a price. "That is my trouble," he said. "Not yours." The two bunnies looked at each other. Then they parted, revealing an oven behind them. It shone deep green, like polished emerald, with a small door and a warm glow inside. No smoke, no soot. Clover stepped closer and felt gentle heat. "It never burns," the brown-eyed bunny said. "It bakes true, every time." "And the vines feed you," the blue-eyed bunny said. She pulled a carrot from the wisteria. A new one grew back at once, right before Clover's eyes. "Pick as many as you like. They never run out." Clover touched a hanging carrot. It came free in his paw, and another swelled to replace it. His thirty carrots suddenly meant nothing. He had endless carrots and an oven that could not fail. He should have felt joy. Instead he grew wary. "Why give me this?" he asked. The royal bunnies only smiled and stepped back into the shadows behind the baskets. They did not answer. When Clover blinked, they were gone. The oven remained. The vines remained, heavy with fruit. He did not waste the morning. He mixed batter, grated carrots, and slid a tray into the green oven. The loaves rose golden and even. The crust cracked just right. He pulled out a dozen perfect loaves before the vendor arrived, and the smell filled the whole stand. But as he cooled them on the counter, worry crept in. He had promised the vendor half his bread. Now he could bake endless loaves from endless carrots, faster than she could sell a single apple. His bread would bury her stand. She had warned him about competing with her fruit, and soon the whole town would smell his baking and ignore her baskets. Clover looked at the rows of loaves and understood. His gift had solved one problem and handed him a far larger one. The vendor would not stay quiet for long.