Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 10 of 29

Sage came out at dawn with her seed pouch. She stopped at the edge of the new plot. Deep tracks cut across the soil she had raked smooth the night before. The silver buck stood in the middle of it, chewing, its hooves sunk in the dark earth. Terros's companion had wandered in again. Every seed she planted, it trampled before a sprout could rise. "Not again," Sage said. She stepped toward the buck. It lifted its head, blinked its blue eyes, and walked off through the loose dirt, leaving a fresh row of holes. She could not chase it away and plant at the same time. She needed a wall. Sage went to the pile of light wood beside her cabin. She dragged the beams to the plot's edge one at a time. Her hands still ached, but they held. She set each post upright and packed soil around its base. Moss already covered the old logs, soft and green under her palms. By midday a rough fence circled the whole plot. She fit the last rail into place and pushed on it. It held firm. The buck returned at dusk. It walked the fence line, nose down, searching for a gap. It found none. It stood outside the rails and stared at the empty soil with a long, low look. Sage watched from her porch. "Sorry," she told it. "This ground is mine now." The buck turned and vanished into the dark. Then something moved near the fence post. A small fox crouched in the moss, watching her. A sprig of green leaves hung from its mouth. Its fur was orange, its ears tipped dark. It did not run. It set the leaves down at the base of the post, as if offering them. Sage knelt slowly. She held out her open hand. The fox crept forward and sniffed her fingers. Its whiskers tickled her palm. "You brought me herbs," she said. She recognized the sprig. It was rosemary, the kind she used in her remedies. The fox pressed its head against her hand. That night the fox stayed. When the buck's shape appeared again at the tree line, the fox stood tall on the fence rail and barked, sharp and clear. The buck stopped. It would not cross a guarded line. The fox held its post until the buck drifted away for good. At dawn Sage returned to the plot. The soil lay smooth and whole, unbroken by any hoof. She opened her pouch and pressed the first glowing seed into the earth. It stayed. She planted a second, then a third, down the whole first row. Nothing trampled them. The fox watched from the fence, its tail curled around its paws. Sage sat back and looked at her buried seeds. The fence held. The garden was safe. Now she had to make the whole plot grow.