Sage winterwood's Arc

Chapter 18 of 29

With the herd fed and her strength restored, Sage marked out new ground. She paced past her fence to a wide stretch of rocky earth beyond the plot. Stones lay scattered across cracked, dead dirt. This was where every rare plant would grow, if she could wake it. She knelt and pressed her palms to the stone. She drew energy up from the deep water and the living roots below, the way she now knew how. The land answered. But the barren stretch was too vast. Her hands trembled. The strength thinned before it reached the far corners. She sat back, breathing hard. She could feed the herd this way. She could not enrich soil this dead alone. A shadow fell over the stones. Terros Deeproot stood at the edge of the plot, arms crossed, his beard streaked with gray. The earth god had watched her cross that fence three mornings running. He owed her nothing new. Sage braced for another challenge, another demand that she prove herself first. Behind him, the silver buck lowered its head and grazed the forage she had grown. "You fed him again," Terros said. He nodded at the buck. "And the does. The rabbits." His stern face did not soften, but his voice did. "You could have poured all that strength into your own rows. Into the plants you care about. You spent it on hungry animals instead." "They had nowhere else to eat," Sage said. Terros knelt beside her without asking. He set both hands flat on the barren stretch. "I've made you earn every patch. That was right. But this isn't payment." He looked at the buck, then at her. "This is thanks." The ground shuddered. Stones sank and split. Dead dirt darkened and turned soft and rich beneath his palms. The whole barren stretch woke at once, farther than Sage could ever reach on her own. When Terros stood, black earth spread wide where gray rock had lain. Sage stared at the fresh soil. "You didn't make me ask." "No." A rare, small smile pulled at his mouth. "And I'm not done." He walked to the flowered cabin her friends had built and stopped beside it. With a wave, timber rose from the ground. It shaped itself into a sturdy worktable. Jars and vials settled onto its surface, ready for her herbs. "You heal with what you grow. You healed my buck. Now you'll have a proper place to make your remedies." Sage ran her hand along the smooth wood. Then she looked from the worktable to the vast new soil, wider than any ground she had ever planted. "Fill it," Terros said. He turned toward the ridge. "That was always your part." Sage stood alone with more fertile earth than she had seeds to fill it. Her garden of every plant, mortal and divine, finally had room to become real.