Horse Chestnut
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SHE STOOD THERE FOR a long moment after they left, watching them disappear down the road.
Then she covered her face with her hands.
"He grabbed underwear from my underwear tree," she said to no one in particular.
Walter chittered sympathetically from his branch. "Could have been worse, madam."
"How? How could it have been worse?"
"He could have grabbed a nightgown and tried to wear it as a cape?"
Despite everything, she laughed. It came out slightly hysterical, but it was a laugh.
The dandelions pressed close, concerned. She patted the largest one absently. "I'm fine. Just... mortified. But fine."
She took a breath and looked at her purse, heavy with blue bulbs now. She had enough to keep the shield running for a few weeks.
The shield. Right. She needed to install them.
Walter guided her to the gate pillars—she hadn't even noticed them properly before, too busy running for her life that first night. But there they were, stone columns on either side of the gate with hollow chambers inside.
"Just place them in here," Walter explained. "The shield will absorb the energy automatically."
She loaded the bulbs in carefully, watching as each one began to glow brighter once placed. The shield responded immediately—the yellow strengthening, the red cracks fading to pink, then disappearing entirely. By the time she'd used fifteen bulbs, the shield looked solid again. Healthy.
She kept the remaining eight in her purse. Backup. Just in case.
"Much better," Walter said approvingly. "That should hold nicely."
Wren looked out at the grass beyond the gate. At the spot where she'd nearly died. Where Jin and Kenji had saved her.
The dandelions were prowling the perimeter again, checking the shield, patrolling.
An idea struck her. "Wait," she said slowly. "The dandelions can go through the shield, right?"
"Of course, madam. They're yours. The shield recognizes them."
"So they could go out there. And get bulbs. Without me."
Walter's whiskers twitched. "I... suppose they could, yes. Though they'd need some way to carry..." He looked at their hollow bodies. "Ah. Yes, I see what you mean."
Wren looked at her protectors. They'd already proven they could fight and gather bulbs, could think and coordinate. "Next time," she said, "I will send them. I will stay here where it's safe."
"A wise decision, madam."
She felt lighter suddenly. The bulb problem wasn't solved—she'd need more regularly—but it wasn't the death sentence she'd thought. The dandelions could handle it. She didn't have to risk her life every two weeks.
The relief was dizzying.
She went inside and collapsed into the rocking chair, suddenly exhausted. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her shaky and tired.
But she'd survived. She'd gotten the bulbs. She'd met the Marshall.
She'd accidentally shown him her underwear tree.
She groaned and covered her face again.
Outside, the afternoon sun was breaking through the clouds. The rain had finally stopped. Her grove sparkled with water droplets, everything green and growing and alive.
She had work to do still, lunch to make. More planning, more preparing. But right now, she just sat in her chair and breathed. She was alive and safe. Home.
She sat there until her heartbeat returned to normal, then forced herself up. The day wasn't over yet.
Lunch first. She was starving—adrenaline had burned through her breakfast, and she wanted tea while she worked. A soothing cup of chamomile sounded wonderful.
She made it simple. Baked eggs from the eggplant (watching them carefully this time), bread with butter, milk from the milkweed bottles. Hot tea with cream.
Thankfully, she didn't have to risk her life for food.
As she ate, she looked out the window toward town. Through the clarified shield, she could see it clearly in the late afternoon light. The buildings built into the cliff face. The defensive walls. And there—movement. Tiny figures, just specks really, but definitely people going about their lives.
It was close. Really close. Ten minutes walk, maybe? Fifteen at most on a good road?
She had her magic purse to carry trade goods. The road was protected, Jin had said. She could easily walk there when she was ready.
But.
She thought about the monster that had nearly caught her. The way Jin and Kenji had ridden at a gallop to reach her in time. The speed that had saved her life.
Walking was fine. Until it wasn't.
After she finished eating and cleaned up, she remembered the extra bulbs in her purse. Eight of them, backup supply. She should probably store them somewhere safe, maybe in the root cellar where it was cool.
She pulled one out to examine it, and immediately dropped it with a sound of disgust. The bulb was slimy.
Sticky. The glow had faded to a sickly greenish-yellow, and it smelled faintly of rot.
"What the..." She grabbed another one. Same thing.
All eight backup bulbs were spoiled, decomposing in her hands.
"Walter!" she called.
He appeared at the door immediately. "Yes, madam?"
She held up one of the ruined bulbs. "What happened? They were fine this morning!"
Walter's nose twitched. "Oh dear! Yes, blue bulbs do that. They're only good for a day or so after harvest. Use them or lose them, as they say."
"A day?"
"Sometimes two, if you're lucky. But they degrade quickly once picked. It's one reason they're so expensive—professional harvesters have to use them immediately or sell them fresh. Can't stockpile them."
Wren stared at the slimy mess in her hands. "So I can't keep extras."
"Not unless you harvest them the same day you need to install them, no."
That changed things. She couldn't build up a reserve. Couldn't plan ahead as much as she'd hoped. Every two weeks, she'd need fresh bulbs—either harvest them herself (send the dandelions) or buy them.
"Wonderful," she muttered, carrying the spoiled bulbs outside to dispose of them far from the house. The dandelions watched with interest as she tossed them into the grass beyond the gate. The bulbs dissolved quickly, melting into the soil like they'd never been.
She washed her hands thoroughly, thinking. Regular income. She needed regular income to buy things she couldn’t produce, or that harvesting was too dangerous or too difficult. Which meant regular trips to town to trade.
Which meant she needed a fast way to get there and back.
She reached into her purse and found the seed. Held it in her palm, feeling its warmth.
Horse chestnut.
She planted it near the gate, where a horse would make sense. Where she could reach it quickly if she needed to leave in a hurry.
"Grow."
The tree rose up fast, broader than the others. Chestnut leaves unfurled, and then the trunk began to split and reshape. The horse emerged like a sculpture coming to life.
Its body was smooth wood, burnished and warm-toned.
The grain flowed naturally, following the muscles and curves a real horse would have.
Its face was textured bark, with knots for eyes that somehow looked gentle and intelligent.
The legs were strong, clearly articulated at every joint.
And the mane and tail were made of thin, supple branches with small leaves sprouting from them, a deep green, rustling softly as the horse moved.
It stepped free from the tree, shook its head (leaves whispering), and looked at her.
"Hello," she said softly.
The horse lowered its head, and she reached out carefully to touch its neck. The wood was warm, smooth under her fingers. Alive, somehow. "Can you run?" she asked.
The horse tossed its mane and stepped in a circle—graceful, powerful, sure-footed. It moved like a real horse, despite being made of wood and leaves.
She'd need to test it properly before she relied on it. Make sure it could carry her weight, that it wouldn't fall apart mid-gallop. But looking at it now, watching it move with such natural grace, she thought it would be fine. Better than fine.
"I'll need to name you," she murmured.
The horse nickered softly—the sound was woody, rustling, not quite like a real horse but close enough.
She smiled. "Tomorrow. I'll figure out a name tomorrow."