Ember Woods's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Ember worked the field until her palms cracked. She had broken one small square of dirt by dusk. The rest lay hard and wide, stretching past the empty houses. Three pouches of seeds sat by her knee. She knew the truth now. The seeds would spoil before she cleared enough ground alone. She needed hands stronger than her own, and she had none. She walked back toward the forest to think. Her home waited under the trees, a snug shelter wrapped in bark and moss. Near the door, a white fox with black-tipped ears watched her. It had followed her for days, taking scraps, keeping close. Ember tossed it a berry. "You can't dig either," she said. The fox trotted off between the pines, then stopped and looked back. She followed it. The fox led her along a stream to a field she had never seen. Rows of turned earth ran straight and clean. A man knelt among them, pressing soil around young plants. He wore an open vest and worn boots caked with dirt. He heard her step and looked up, then smiled like he had been expecting her. "Lost, or just admiring the view?" he said. "Rallo Moore. I farm this stretch." His eyes moved over her stained hands and tired face. "You've been fighting dirt. And losing." "The village fields," Ember said. "I have seeds. Good ones. But the ground is packed hard, and it's too much for me." She hated asking. The words came out flat. "I can't do it alone." Rallo stood and brushed his knees. He studied her a long moment. "Those old fields haven't been worked in years," he said. "You'd need a plow. A strong back. Someone who knows the soil." He tilted his head. "Lucky for you, I'm all three." "I have no coin," Ember said. "Didn't ask for coin." He grinned. "I asked for nothing yet. But I'll want something." He nodded at the pouches in her hand. "Half of what your garden grows. And your company while we break that ground." Ember frowned. "Half is steep." "Then a third," he said, quick and easy. "And the pleasure of your frown while I work." He held out a rough, dirt-lined hand. She weighed it. A third of a garden was better than a field of spoiled seed. She gripped his hand and shook it once. "A third. And you start tomorrow." "Sunup," Rallo said. He held her hand a beat too long. She pulled it back. The next morning he came with a plow and a tall brown cow. The blade bit into the hard earth and turned it dark and loose. Ember followed behind, pressing seeds into each open row. By noon they had broken more ground than she could in a week. The field was no longer too vast. But Rallo laughed too easily at her, and she caught herself watching him too often, and that was a new trouble she had not planned for.