Pippen knelt in his garden and crushed a clod of dirt in his fist. It fell apart into pale, dusty grit. He wanted to grow the finest pipe-weed in Middle-earth, a leaf so smooth that traders would ride from far lands to buy it. But this soil could barely feed a weed. His first seedlings drooped in their rows, their leaves yellow at the edges. He had spent his whole savings on these seeds. The packet lay empty by the fence. If this crop died, there would be no coin for another. Behind him, his horse stamped and swished her long dark tail. She watched him with those bright green eyes, calm while he sweated. Pippen stood and pressed his forehead to her warm neck. "The dirt's no good, girl," he said. "Roots want something rich. Something old." Then he remembered the forest floor beyond his fence. Every autumn, leaves rotted there for years untouched. That dark crumbly earth could feed anything. He grabbed two empty sacks and led the horse toward the trees. Inside the wood, the ground was soft and black. Pippen dug both hands in and lifted rich, sweet-smelling soil. He filled one sack, then the other, and roped them across the horse's back. She carried the weight without complaint. But when he turned to leave, he saw the masked thief. A raccoon crouched on a fallen log, its ringed tail curled tight. It had torn open the second sack. Dark soil spilled across the moss. The animal stuffed its cheeks with something pale it had dug from the dirt. "No! Leave it!" Pippen shouted and ran forward. The raccoon did not flee. It sat up on its hind legs and stared at him, unafraid. In its clever paws it held a fat white grub and a knot of pale roots. Then Pippen saw the truth. The rich soil was full of grubs. Those grubs would have chewed his seedlings to nothing. He stopped and let out a slow breath. "You're not stealing," he said. "You're cleaning it." He crouched and watched. The raccoon dug through the loose soil, plucked out each grub, and ate it. It worked fast and left the good earth behind. Pippen scooped that cleaned soil back into the torn sack himself. By dusk he had two full sacks of dark forest earth, picked clean of pests. The horse carried them home, and the raccoon trailed after, chirring. Pippen spread the rich soil across his garden rows. He worked it deep around each drooping seedling. Within the hour, the yellow leaves lifted. The plants stood straighter, drinking the good dirt. He had saved his first crop. But the raccoon sat at the edge of the garden, watching the plants with bright, hungry eyes. Pippen looked from the healthy rows to the bold little thief and frowned. The soil was fixed. Now something would have to keep this clever visitor out of his tender young leaves.