Primrose Egghart's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Primrose kneels in the grass and peers between the roots of the old oak tree. Her basket sits beside her, heavy with painted eggs that just sat there waiting to be found. But the last one — the one that matters — keeps slipping away. She catches a flash of color tucked deep in the shadows, bright against the dark earth. Her breath stops. She blinks. It's gone. She leans closer, squinting into the tangle of roots and vines. Yellow flowers droop overhead, their petals brushing her hair. The roots twist together like braided rope, creating pockets of darkness she can't quite see into. Something lavender-pale sits far back in one of those shadows, but when she shifts her weight, the angle changes and there's only earth. Primrose rocks back on her heels and notices the prints. Tiny three-toed marks pressed into the soft dirt near the burrow entrance. They scatter in different directions like someone couldn't decide which way to run. She traces one with her finger. It's smaller than her thumb. She sets her basket down and sits cross-legged in front of the overgrown opening. The egg knows she's here. It saw her just like she saw it. Now it's waiting to see what she'll do. Primrose folds her hands in her lap and goes still. Her fancy dress spreads around her like petals. She doesn't reach into the burrow or call out or try to trick it into showing itself. She just waits, because the best things can't be grabbed.