The morning sun had barely cleared the tops of the ancient pines, but Jessica was already on her knees in the damp earth, a small iron trowel in her hand. Her cottage sat on the very edge of the wood—far enough from the village to avoid the prying eyes of neighbors, but close enough to the shadowed treeline to feel the constant, cool exhale of the forest.
Around her, the small plot of garden was a chaotic vibrant patch of life. Lavender bushes, heavy with purple buds, competed for space with wild mint and fat-leafed sage. To anyone else, it looked like a simple collection of cooking herbs. To Jessica, it was a vital toolkit.
She wiped a streak of dirt from her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a smudge on her pale skin. Her blonde hair was tied back hastily with a piece of frayed twine, a few loose strands framing her face as she worked. Today, she was focused on the marigolds. Their bright orange heads were cheerful, but she valued them for the thick, soothing salve she could brew from their petals—perfect for soothing burns or sealing shallow cuts.
"Just a few more," she murmured to herself, her fingers deftly pinching the stems at the base.
As she worked, the rhythm of the garden usually brought her peace, but today her mind kept wandering to the deeper woods. To him. She looked down at her hands, stained green and brown from the soil. The village was growing rowdier, the faction raids creeping closer to the borders every week. It felt like a matter of time before the fragile peace of her daily routine was broken.
A sudden rustle in the high ferns near the treeline made her freeze. Her heart gave a sharp flutter against her ribs. She gripped the wooden handle of her trowel a little tighter, her petite frame tensing as she stared into the shadows.
It was probably just a deer, or one of the small woodland creatures that frequently braved her garden for a taste of the sweet roots. But in these woods, with high elves, monsters, and stranger things roaming the deeper paths, one could never be too careful.
She held her breath, waiting to see what would step out of the trees.
Around her, the small plot of garden was a chaotic vibrant patch of life. Lavender bushes, heavy with purple buds, competed for space with wild mint and fat-leafed sage. To anyone else, it looked like a simple collection of cooking herbs. To Jessica, it was a vital toolkit.
She wiped a streak of dirt from her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a smudge on her pale skin. Her blonde hair was tied back hastily with a piece of frayed twine, a few loose strands framing her face as she worked. Today, she was focused on the marigolds. Their bright orange heads were cheerful, but she valued them for the thick, soothing salve she could brew from their petals—perfect for soothing burns or sealing shallow cuts.
"Just a few more," she murmured to herself, her fingers deftly pinching the stems at the base.
As she worked, the rhythm of the garden usually brought her peace, but today her mind kept wandering to the deeper woods. To him. She looked down at her hands, stained green and brown from the soil. The village was growing rowdier, the faction raids creeping closer to the borders every week. It felt like a matter of time before the fragile peace of her daily routine was broken.
A sudden rustle in the high ferns near the treeline made her freeze. Her heart gave a sharp flutter against her ribs. She gripped the wooden handle of her trowel a little tighter, her petite frame tensing as she stared into the shadows.
It was probably just a deer, or one of the small woodland creatures that frequently braved her garden for a taste of the sweet roots. But in these woods, with high elves, monsters, and stranger things roaming the deeper paths, one could never be too careful.
She held her breath, waiting to see what would step out of the trees.