Fennel Thistledown's Arc

Chapter 2 of 21

The orange leaves dried on the table, but Fennel knew one clump would not feed weeks of lessons. So she and the girl walked out past the garden wall the next morning, toward the wild stands. Fennel's knees ached with every step. The best patch grew where the fiery bees worked, their amber stripes glowing like small coals. That stand held the herbs she needed most. But a girl already crouched at the edge of the patch, filling a jar. Fennel had heard of her. This was the child the town healer had turned away for being too young. The one told "good luck" and left to teach herself from books. Now she looked up with sharp brown eyes, one hand shielding her jar. "This is my patch," the girl said. "I found it first. I check it every week." She paused. "Not every week. Twice a week, if the weather holds." Fennel stopped. She could argue. Instead she looked at the jar. The girl had cut the stems clean, low, careful. "You picked these right," Fennel said. "Most people tear them." "Books show you how," the girl said. "I'm Lily. I already know the fever herbs. I want to know the rest." Fennel heard the hunger under the flat words. She knew that hunger. She had spent her life feeding it in others. Her own apprentice stood beside her, but this girl on the ground knew more than she let on. A fiery bee landed on Lily's wrist. Lily did not flinch. She watched it lift off, then pointed. "They only sting if you swat them. The burn herb grows where they nest. That's why nobody else picks here." "You worked that out yourself?" Fennel asked. "Nobody would teach me," Lily said. "So yes." Fennel lowered herself onto a stone, slow, both hands on her knees. She did not want the patch. She wanted the mind that had claimed it. "Trade," she said. "You share the stand. I teach you what the books can't. Both girls learn from me." Lily looked at the older girl, then back at Fennel. "You'd teach me for real. Not just say good luck." "For real," Fennel said. Lily set her jar down. She held out a stem toward Fennel, the cut end clean. "Then show me what I'm holding wrong." Fennel took it and smiled. She had come for herbs and found something better. She now had a second student, and a stand she could gather from for weeks. But two students changed everything. Fennel's apron held enough for one lesson, not two. Feeding two hungry minds meant twice the herbs, twice the walking, twice the strain on knees that already trembled on the stones. And Lily, sharp as she was, had waited years to be taught. She would not wait quietly now.