Dahlia Wright's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Dahlia knelt at the end of the long purple row and pressed her palm flat to the soil. The lavender hummed under her hand. She felt the wards stretch out past the fields and into the trees, thin in places they should not be thin. Behind her, Rose and Violet worked the next row with shears, learning the rhythm of the cut. "You're pulling too hard," Dahlia said, without turning. "The stem tells you when it's ready. Listen first." Rose lowered her shears and tried again. Violet watched her, then watched Dahlia. "This is going to sound completely unhinged," Violet said, "but the plants got quieter when you touched the ground." "They did," Dahlia said. She pulled a small wooden charm from her tattered bag — braided lavender wound around a carved folk symbol — and pressed it into Violet's hand. "Carry this in your pocket while you work. You'll feel the difference." Rose looked over, careful, hungry to be trusted with one too. Dahlia drew out a second charm and held it toward her without comment. Then Dahlia stood. She looked past the rows, past the fence, to where the woods began. Something out there was pushing again, patient and slow, picking at the edges of her work. She tightened her grip on the bag. "Girls," she said, "finish the row. We start your real lessons tonight."