Purple Pop's Arc

Chapter 7 of 16

Purple Pop led her donkey home with the heavy crate swaying. Halfway down the path, she felt the straps slip. She turned just in time to see two baskets tumble into the grass. The donkey blinked at her, calm as ever, and kept walking. Before Purple Pop could scold her, a spotted sheepdog bounded out of the brush. He nosed each basket upright and pushed them back toward her feet. Not a wrapper was lost. Purple Pop knelt and scratched his ears. "Thank you, friend." She knew she could not trust loose straps again. From her cottage shed, she pulled out a sturdy pack saddle bright with pressed flowers. It had buckles that locked tight and pockets stitched deep. She fitted it over the donkey's back and clicked each strap into place. Nothing would slide free now. The sun was nearly gone. Purple Pop walked her donkey to a small lilac barn at the edge of the meadow. Its soft purple walls glowed in the last light. White doors swung open on quiet hinges. Inside smelled of clean hay. She slipped a braided lavender halter from the donkey's nose and hung it on a peg. She latched the barn door behind her and stepped back onto the path. Then she stopped. The barn sat far from her cart. Tomorrow morning, she would have to walk all the way out here, load the donkey, and walk all the way back before she could even open. Every minute would cost her customers. Purple Pop looked at the dark barn, then the long path home. The donkey was safe. The goods were safe. But her morning was now broken in half, and she would have to find a way to mend it before sunrise.