Owodo Greenleaf's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Owodo knelt in the eastern field and pressed her palm to the cracked stone marker tucked against an old tree's roots. She had carved a fresh notch that morning, another season counted, another harvest thinning. She wanted three things, and she wanted them braided together: the prince's heart, a healed land, and a seat where her voice could not be waved away. She opened her leather satchel and pulled out small jars of comfrey, ash, and bran water. Her green journal lay across her knees, its gold vines catching the low sun. She checked her three ratios, marked which row drank well and which still choked. The soil was answering her, slowly. The court was not. A shadow slid across the page. A black wolf stood at the field's edge, yellow eyes steady on her. She did not move. The wolf stepped closer, sniffed the jar of bran water, and lay down beside her like it had decided something. Footsteps followed. A rider in court colors stopped at the oak gate that marked the prince's hunting bounds. He stared past the brass plaque at the woman, the wolf, and the dirt under her nails. "That animal belongs to the prince," he said. "It does not lie down for strangers." Owodo stood. She kept one hand on the journal and one on the wolf's shoulder. "Then tell the prince his wolf has found sick ground," she said. "And tell him a herbalist is already treating it. If he wants to see, the gate is right there." The rider turned his horse and rode hard back toward the keep. The wolf stayed. Owodo watched the dust settle on the brass plaque and felt the door she had been pushing on finally crack open.