Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 11 of 29

The first row sprouted three days later. Tiny green shoots rose from the dark soil, each tipped with a faint glow. Sage knelt and touched a leaf. Basil. Then mint. Then a common clover. She walked the row and named every plant. All of them were ordinary. She had wanted a garden of every plant known to mortals and gods. Instead she had a patch any farmer could grow. The rare seeds, the ones from far peaks and deep valleys, she did not have. Her pouch held only what grew nearby. The fox watched from the fence rail. It cocked its head, then leaped down and pressed a sprig of rosemary into her hand, the way it had the first night. "You know where things grow," Sage said. "You found these leaves. Could you find more?" The fox's ears pricked. Its tail swept the dust. Sage went into her cabin and searched her gathered shed. In a corner she found a small leather satchel, stitched years ago and never used. She fit the strap over the fox's shoulders. It sat still and let her. The bag hung snug against its side. "Bring me what I don't have," she said. "Seeds and roots from the far places. The strange ones." She held out a single glowing seed so the fox would understand her meaning. The fox sniffed it, then nosed the empty flap of the satchel. It turned and slipped under the fence rail. In three quick bounds it vanished into the trees. Sage waited. She watered the sprouts. She read to a weak shoot until its leaves lifted. Two days passed. She began to fear the fox had wandered off for good, the way the buck had. At dusk on the second day a shape moved at the tree line. The fox trotted out of the shadows. Its fur was matted with burrs and mud. The satchel bulged and swung against its ribs. It came straight to Sage and sat, panting, at her feet. She knelt and opened the flap. Inside lay seeds she had never seen. Some were black and hard as stone. Some were silver and light as ash. One pod glowed blue through its shell. She poured them into her palm and counted a dozen kinds. Each one came from a place she could not reach on her own. The fox had crossed ridges and rivers to gather them. "You brought the whole world back," she whispered. She pressed her face to its dusty fur. The fox leaned into her.