Sage Knight's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

By morning, the fox had not left. It sat near the seedling row, tail curled, watching the dark bud as closely as Sage did. She set down the lantern and studied them both. The bud looked the same. The fox looked patient. She needed distance. If the fox was helping, she shouldn't crowd it. If it was harming, she had to know. Sage dragged posts and planks from the shed and built a tall watch platform a few steps from the bud. She climbed up and sat, knees drawn close, eyes fixed below. For two days she watched. The fox did not eat. It did not wander. It pressed its glowing side against the soil near the stalk, and the bud held firm. Sage marked each hour in a small notebook. The stalk did not shrink. It did not grow either. On the third dawn, the fox stood. It walked a slow circle, then began arranging twigs and small bones from a pile she had not noticed before. It wove them into a low den beside the bud, sloped and strange, and curled inside as if claiming the spot. Sage climbed down. She knelt by the den and looked in. The fox met her eyes. The bud above them had darkened a shade — deeper, fuller, alive. Not harm. Not yet bloom. Something between. She closed her notebook. The fox was staying. She would build her watching around that fact.