Silas thornbush's Arc

Chapter 1 of 14

Silas set the wagon brake and studied the stretch of land before him. The ranch hands at Skull Valley had been talking about soil for twenty minutes now, pointing at ground they said would grow anything. They wanted him to stay. Permanent. No more moving settlement to settlement with his flower wagon. He walked the perimeter they'd marked out, crouching to test the dirt between his fingers. Rich. Dark. The kind of earth that held water without drowning roots. Behind him stood his wagon, painted that particular shade his wife had loved, the floral carvings on the panels catching afternoon light. The hands were right about the soil. He could grow twice what the wagon carried, maybe three times. But the settlements beyond Skull Valley would go another year without fresh blooms, and the year after that they'd forget flowers were possible at all. He stood, brushed his hands clean, and walked back to the wagon. The brake released with a familiar click. He'd return to Skull Valley when his route came round again, same as always.