Day 2
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WREN WOKE TO WATERY light and the sound of rain. Again.
She lay there for a moment, cocooned in blankets, listening. Steady rain, the kind that would last all day.
Her body ached. Muscles she'd forgotten she had were sore from all the planting and running and surviving, but her hands felt better. She examined her palms in the dim light. The scrapes were still there but healing remarkably fast. Pink and closed instead of raw and open.
The heal-all really worked.
She sat up slowly, stretching. The room was cool but not freezing—the sunflower in the oven had burned through the night, though its glow was fading now. She'd need to replace it soon.
Outside, fog pressed against the windows. She could barely see her small grove of trees through the gray.
Walter appeared at her doorway, whiskers twitching. "Good morning, madam! Quite the weather we're having."
"Is it always like this?"
"The rain? It comes and goes. We're entering the wet season, so expect more of it for the next few weeks." He hopped onto the counter. "Will you be attempting the blue bulb harvest today?"
She looked at the foggy windows, at the rain. "Can I even see the bulbs in this?"
"Probably not advisable in this visibility. The safe window is eleven to two, remember—you'd want to use that time wisely. Tomorrow might be clearer."
Tomorrow. One more day.
She was about to respond when a massive CRACK echoed from outside. They both froze.
Another impact. The whole treehouse shuddered slightly.
Wren ran to the window and threw open the shutters.
A monster—huge, scaled, easily the size of a car—was slamming against the shield wall. Not randomly. Deliberately. It was hitting the same spot over and over.
The spot with the red crack.
Each impact sent spiderweb fractures spreading from the crack. Red lines that glowed angry and bright, then faded slightly—but not completely. Not anymore.
The monster reared back and hit again. More cracks.
"That's not good," Walter said quietly from beside her.
"How long—" Her voice came out hoarse. "How long before it breaks through?"
"At this rate? A day. Maybe less if others join in." Walter's tail was completely still—she'd never seen him so motionless. "They can sense weakness. Once one figures it out, others will come."
The monster hit again. A chunk of the shield flickered, the yellow dimming to almost nothing in that spot.
"I have to go today," Wren said. "I have to go get the bulbs today, weather or not."
"In the fog? Madam, you won't be able to see three feet in front of you. The monsters will have every advantage."
"And if I wait until tomorrow, the shield might be gone."
They watched the monster hit again. Again. It was methodical. Testing. Learning.
Finally, it gave up—or got bored—and lumbered back toward the forest. But the damage remained. The red cracks covered a section the size of a door now, pulsing weakly.
Wren's hands were shaking. She pressed them flat against the windowsill. "Maybe it'll clear up by eleven," she said, not believing it.
Walter said nothing.
She forced herself to move. Back to the oven, replacing the spent sunflower with a fresh one. The routine helped. Do the next thing. Then the next.
Breakfast. She needed breakfast.
She grabbed bread from the breadfruit tree, butter from the buttercups. Ate mechanically, tasting little.
Through the clarified shield, she could see the town in the distance. Even through the fog, there was movement. Lights. People going about their lives behind strong walls and proper defenses.
So far away.
She wondered if they knew someone was living out here. If they cared.
Walter cleared his throat. "I should mention—there's been talk."
She looked at him. "Talk?"
"The messenger squirrels. They've been spreading word. Someone's at the cursed farm. Someone who's actually... surviving." His whiskers twitched. "Viktor's very interested, apparently. And there's speculation about what kind of magic you're using."
"I'm not using magic. The plants are magic."
"Same difference to them, madam." He groomed one paw. "Just thought you should know. When you do make it to town, expect... attention."
Great. As if she didn't have enough to worry about.
She was finishing her bread when she heard it.
Scratching. Rustling. Then a sharp, chittering sound outside. She quietly opened the peephole in the door. The fog was thick, but she could see her grove of trees. The breadfruit, the silk tree, the—
Where was the hen and chicks plant? She carefully stepped out onto the porch, squinting.
There. The plant was there, looking slightly trampled. But the hen was gone. The chicks were gone.
On the ground was a torn paper wrapper, damp from the rain, and small tracks leading toward the forest.
She sighed in disappointment. She’d forgotten to collect the chickens last night.
Walter appeared at her elbow. "Weasel, probably. Or a fox. Natural predators can pass right through the shield, you see. It only stops the monsters."
"The shield doesn't stop everything?"
"Only magical creatures and monsters. Regular animals come and go as they please." He examined the tracks. "Definitely a weasel. They're bold little devils."
She stared at the torn wrapper. Now she had wildlife to deal with, too. "I can grow more," she said, adding opportunistic critters to the list of things she’d have to watch out for.
"You could," Walter agreed. "But you'll need to harvest them quickly. Or build a coop. Or..." He hesitated. "Store them somewhere cool and safe."
Storage. Right. She had nowhere to store meat. No icebox, no—
Wait.
She went back inside, looking around her treehouse with new eyes. Counter, island, bed platform, bathroom door...
There. Near the corner by the fireplace. A seam in the floor she hadn't noticed before. A trapdoor? She knelt and ran her fingers along it. Found a recessed handle and pulled. The door lifted easily, revealing stairs leading down. Wooden steps, smooth and sturdy, disappearing into darkness below.
"Well," Walter said from behind her. "That's new."
"Was this here yesterday?"
"I don't recall seeing it, no."
She fetched one of the paper lanterns and held it by the handle over the dark opening. The stairs led down into a cellar. She could see earthen walls, supporting roots from the treehouse above, and cool air rising up. It was a root cellar, built into the tree's roots themselves.
"Did the tree just... make this?" she asked.
Walter's whiskers twitched. "The tree does seem to be rather accommodating, doesn't it?"
She descended slowly, the lantern held high.
The cellar was perfect. Cool, dry enough, with natural shelving formed from the roots. Space for storage and food that needed to stay cold.
If she survived tomorrow, she'd have a place to keep the chicken meat.
If she survived tomorrow.
She climbed back up and closed the trapdoor. "Right," she said. "I need to prepare."