Elran Mistwind's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Elran woke in a small unfamiliar bed, warm under a wool blanket. His armor and sword were gone. A fire crackled somewhere close. He smelled dried herbs and woodsmoke. This was the witch's cottage, it had to be. He had wrecked her garden, and now he lay in her house, unarmed. The room around him was dimly lit, and across from him Elran could make out a shadowy human form cloaked in shadow. A chill ran up his spine— no doubt that dark figure was the witch, and she would no doubt want revenge for what he has done. Something climbed onto the blanket, making Elran tense up. It was a tiny thing of roots and thorns, with purple flowers sprouting from its head. It sniffed him, then wrinkled its face. "Filthy human," it said. "Rootweaver does not trust it. Rootweaver watched it break the garden." It bared little teeth, then glanced back toward the dark figure. "Can we eats it?" "Not yet," said a voice from the shadows by the wall. The voice was softer than Elran had expected, younger. The voice Ruben directed itself toward Elran. "You trampled my plant beds and grabbed the star-thistle. Bold. Or stupid. Probably stupid. Tell me your purpose for coming here while I decide what to do with you.” “I…” Elran began but he could not seem to find his words. What could he say, anyway? How could he defend his actions and, hopefully, save his skin? A girl stepped forward, no older than Elran. Turquoise hair fell in braids past her shoulders. Her eyes were bright and hard. And yet Elran had never laid his eyes upon a more breathtaking being. “Why did you come here?" she repeated. Elran opened his mouth to lie. He was a prince, sent to slay her. But the words would not come. "I was sent to kill you," he said. "I couldn't do it. So I broke your garden to force you out. I'm sorry. I've never been more sorry about anything." The girl blinked. Rootweaver hissed. "See? See? Kill-talk. Eat him now." "Quiet," she said. She looked at Elran a long moment. "I'm Elila. Get up. You broke it, you fix it. If any of those plants die because of you, I let Rootweaver have you." Elran followed her outside. The garden looked worse in daylight. Snapped stems. Crushed blooms. Roots pulled up and freezing. He knelt in the cold dirt. "I don't know what any of these are. I could kill what's left." Elila crouched beside him. She moved fast, hands sure. "Then listen. This is frostmint, the low one, you tuck the root down gentle, don't pack it, it hates being crushed, and that silver one is dreamvine, it just needs propping, look, like this." She talked without stopping, naming every plant, showing him how to hold each stem. Elran copied her. His fingers were clumsy. Hers were not. Rootweaver watched from the fence, arms crossed. When Elran set a bruised flower upright and packed the soil right, the sprite grunted. It said nothing, but it did not call him filthy again. They worked until dark. Most of the plants stood again. A few would not survive, and Elila said so plainly. "Those three are gone. You killed them. But the rest will live." Elran sat back on his heels, hands black with dirt. He had come to destroy her, and instead he had spent a day saving what he ruined. He looked at Elila by the lantern light, at her quick hands and stubborn eyes, and something in his chest turned over. He did not want to leave. "Stay tonight," Elila said, not looking at him. "You still owe the garden water in the morning."