Lark woke slowly, and it was as if she were transported to her childhood. She was warm and safe under her quilt in her bed in her grandparents’ cottage. The sun was shining through the window, and the birds were chirping outside. Her grandmother was humming a tune in the kitchen, and the sound of breakfast being made gave life to the house. The smell of bacon pulled her from her bed as the memory of yesterday afternoon came back to her.

  She had fainted. It had been a long time since she had overextended her magic to the point of exhaustion. She had been physically exhausted as well, and that never helped.

  Her trousers were nowhere to be seen, so she wrapped herself in her quilt and walked into the main room of the cottage. June was in the kitchen, and breakfast smelled amazing.

  “Good morning,” Lark said.

  “Is it?” June said with a hint of reprimand in her voice. “How do you feel?”

  “Embarrassed. I’m sorry you had to come out here. Did Ian fetch you?”

  “He did, and he was quite worried. Although he knew what to do. I don’t know how he got you in bed with just his one arm. He must have thrown you over a shoulder. When I arrived, I found he had left you with elevated feet and a damp cloth on your forehead.”

  Lark sank into a chair at the kitchen table. “I think he could regain some use of his upper arm muscles, and it was intricate work. I got in too deep.”

  “You know if you keep going like that Ian might have an arm, but he’ll be down one friend, and I happen to know he needs a friend.”

  “I know, I know. I’ll go slower.”

  June brought two plates to the table. They were piled with eggs, bacon, sauteed greens, biscuits, and strawberry jam.

  “You brought groceries,” Lark said as she dug in.

  “The home won’t miss them,” she said. “I figured your pantry was still bare.”

  “I appreciate it, and I appreciate you coming out. How is your hip? Did you walk here?”

  “Tish gave me a ride and some bread. She was visiting the home when Ian got there. She and Penny are good people. We need more like them. She was headed this way anyway. She’s going to swing by and pick me up sometime today.”

  “I’ll be sure to thank her,” Lark said.

  They ate their breakfast and chatted about the state of the farm. June wasn’t apologetic

  about letting the weeds move in, and the dust settle. She had never been a woman to dwell on what was out of her control.

  “You’ll need the cart back,” she said as she collected the dishes. “Elinor Mayfield has it, and another item you probably need as well. She will likely be very willing to bring them both back.”

  “Elinor is still alive,” Lark said. “I thought she was well into her 80s when I left.”

  “She and her sister survive on spite. They are 85 and 90 and still brew up their concoctions, much to the horror of our new healer and our progressive mayor. They’ll be at Market Day tomorrow, such that it is.”

  “What is this other item they have?”

  June grinned. “Oh, that I think you should find out for yourself.”

  “Ok,” Lark said. “How about my trousers?”

  “They were filthy. I washed them. They should be dry. I’ll fetch them off the line for you.”

  “And there should be a kitten around here somewhere.”

  “That is no kitten,” June said, and a sweet smile took over her face. She opened up the pocket of her apron, and Boon poked a sleepy head out. “He’s just a sweet baby, such a good baby,” she said in a high-pitched voice that Lark had never heard her use before.

  “Grandmother, you’ve gotten soft. You never had a kind word for any of our goats or chickens or even the barn cats.”

  “That is because they were not such sweet babies. I found him curled up on your stomach yesterday when I got here. He only left you when I coaxed him out with food.”

  She cooed and fawned over Boon as she started cleaning up, and Lark couldn’t help but smile. Her grandmother had a soft spot for babies, music, and, evidently, tiny kittens.

  Lark barely recognized her army issue pants. They were light grey in color now instead of dark brown. As soon as she had some extra funds, new clothes were in order.

  “I have a plan,” Lark said. “But I need twine or string.”

  “In the barn, below the worktable. I tossed a whole spool of your grandfather’s garden twine there years ago. What do you have in mind?”

  “A little scavenging and a bit of foraging. Maybe I can make a few coins or barter for a few things at the market.”

  “Good idea, but no magic. You need to rest your mental capacity.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a day of picking wildflowers.”

  Lark set June up at the kitchen table, with Boon as her companion. She had her cut lengths of the twine while she headed with her basket and pruning knife to the herb garden. She found a great swath of chives that she trimmed down and added several bunches to the basket. Several varieties of mint were staging a takeover. They would need to be pulled way back, but she got quite a bit of new, tender leaves. Upon diving deeper into the beds and pulling back weeds, she found a few new growths of oregano, thyme, and sage. She pulled a few sprigs from each but left most of it to grow now that it had more room. The hardy rosemary bush was very woody but yielded a few lovely sprigs. The shy chamomile had a few more flowers for her.

  As she worked, she brought her harvest to the kitchen table, where June bundled it neatly and wrapped the fresh leaves, sprigs, and flowers with twine. They set each bundle, cut side down, into a shallow pan with water to keep it fresh overnight.

  After a pause for lunch, which consisted of two lovely pastries that Tish had given June, they both made the short walk into the forest beyond the overgrown vegetable garden. There, they collected as many bluebells as possible in the basket. June tied those in simple bouquets and set them in water as well.

  A clatter of horse hooves sounded through the open windows just as they finished tea. “Today has been wonderful,” June said as she smiled at her granddaughter. You will do just fine.”

  “Thank you for your help today. I can tell you are tired. Rest up tonight, and I’ll see you at the market.”

  June nodded. “Good luck, my dear.”

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  They embraced and then headed outside.

  Tish was not what Lark had remembered. In school, Letitia Stanton had been a tall, lanky girl with wispy hair and a downward gaze. She had been just a girl when Lark had left. The woman who road into the yard now was so large, Lark wondered if June would fit next to her on the bench. Tish was broad shouldered, large breasted, and well muscled. Her thick blonde curls were pulled up in a high knot on top of her head and cascaded down like a waterfall. She bounded from the wagon with grace, and a beautiful smile lit up her face. Lark instantly liked her.

  “Lark!” she called. “I’m so glad you’re back and happy to see you’re feeling better. Penny was so excited when she saw you in the bakery.”

  “I’m sorry for the trouble, and thank you for bringing June. I owe you. I just picked some herbs. What could you use?”

  “It’s my pleasure, of course,” Tish said with a smile. You know we haven’t been able to make our fresh rosemary bread for a while. Do you have any?”

  Lark collected a couple of rosemary bundles and small bouquets of bluebells and gave them to Tish. Then she waved goodbye and watched the wagon turn in the yard and head back towards the main road.

  Lark felt revitalized by the visit. She had one more item to collect for tomorrow. The sun was still high in the sky, so she had plenty of time. She emptied the basket, which had gotten a lot of use today, cleaned her pruning knife, and headed out to the main road.

  The tulips by the roadside were in good spirits. They were just barely open, which was the perfect time for cutting. She knelt down in the grass and clipped the flowers off low. The evening breeze kept her cool as she worked, and she managed to pull a few of the weeds as well. She’d come back in a few weeks and harvest and divide the bulbs for planting next season.

  She stood and looked at the flowers in the basket. Her first real flower harvest. Tulips had always sold well for her grandfather. Hopefully Usher Wheeler was wrong, and the townspeople still needed flowers.

  As she stood she saw a figure coming towards her from the road. A man, walking by himself, his hands in the pockets of his long black coat ambled along slowly. Garrison had cut his long, matted hair, and his face and clothing was clean. His face still seemed hollow and pale, and his expression was not joyful as he stopped before her at the entrance to her farm.

  “You look better,” she said.

  “You too, a bit,” he replied.

  “You didn’t leave. I’m glad.”

  “Let’s have a drink.:

  “I only have well water, I’m afraid.”

  Garrison pulled a bottle out of the large pocket of his coat. “My dad has a new hobby. I think it’s gin.”

  “Well, let’s find out,” Lark said. She picked up her basket full of tulips, and they walked together down the lane. They walked silently past the clearing where her parents’ house had been. When they reached the yard, Garrison let out a whistle.

  “You have work to do, healer. This place is worse than my folks. You’ll need–” Garrison’s words were cut off by an ear piercing crow. James.

  The rooster came tearing across the yard straight at Garrison. Her magic was sluggish from being over worked and took too long to come to her. James bounded off the ground and launched himself at Garrison.

  The sun mage shot a boney hand out and James froze in mid air. He squirmed as his feathers flew and his eyes grew wide, but the vice of air holding him in place held firm.

  “James, be calm,” Lark said, finally pulling a bit of magic to her call. His eyes rolled back, and his wings relaxed as she sent a burst of taming magic to the bird. She took hold of him so he wouldn’t fall, and supporting him from underneath and holding his thick legs firmly, she held him as Garrison released his hold. The dazed rooster sank into her and allowed himself to be carried.

  “You should put that one down,” he said.

  “Absolutely not,” she said. “But maybe I do need a warning sign. You know he didn’t mind my grandmother or Tish.”

  “Typical crazy rooster,” he said.

  Lark set the now drowsy rooster down next to April near the coop. “He’s been living in the forest for over a year. He’s had to be crazy.”

  Garrison narrowed his eyes at James. James made a very pitiful attempt at a crow.

  “I’m sorry, I am usually quicker with a tame, but I over exerted myself healing a friend yesterday.”

  “The cobbler’s son. I heard.”

  Lark put her basket on the table and took two pewter cups from the cupboard. Garrison sat at the table and ran a finger along one of the tulip buds.

  “Have you met him yet, Ian, the cobbler’s son?” She asked.

  Garrison poured some of the clear liquid from his bottle into the cups. “No. Sailors were always too cheerful of a bunch.”

  “He sells some good boots. You should go see him. He says veterans get a free pair.”

  Garrison looked up at her, his deep set green eyes looked knowing. “And did you take him up on that?”

  “Sort of,” she admitted. “I talked him into taking some flowers and a seasonal arrangement.”

  “And you’re healing him.”

  “I would do that for him anyway.”

  “You and your mom were always too generous with your magic.” The words sounded harsh, but they came out gentle and touched with sorrow.

  “She’d be glad you came home, glad you were with your own mother again.”

  “I know.”

  “I miss her,” Lark said.

  “I know that too,” he said.

  They each took a drink, and the alcohol burned as it went down. “I’ve had much worse,” Lark said.

  They were silent for a while, and Lark began to bundle and tie the tulips. Garrison watched as she took several blooms, added a sprig of mint or greenery, and tied the stems with twine. Then, she put them in the pan with water. She made a few quite nice arrangements with bluebells as well. When she was done, she suggested moving outside, where the evening breeze was refreshing.

  Garrison agreed, and he carried two chairs just outside the cottage, where they refilled their cups. Boon crawled up into her lap and curled into a ball. James, who had recovered, scratched and pecked the ground with April by his side. The sun dipped below the tree line, and evening settled on the yard.

  “I missed this,” Lark said between sips.

  “I’m not sure what I missed,” Garrison said. “It wasn’t chicken farming, though, that I know.”

  “You were never made for chicken farming,” Lark said. “Remember when you decided to see how many hens you could levitate at once? I thought your mother would never unground you.”

  Garrison’s mouth jerked slightly as if a smile might have tried to form. “I can’t believe you remember that you were just a kid.”

  “You weren’t much older.”

  Garrison refilled his cup and took a swig. “I can’t be a chicken farmer, but I have to help the parents. They are close to losing everything.”

  “Has Wheeler made them a deal?”

  “That bastard can rot in hell,” he said. And real hatred simmered in his tone.

  “You can be a big help to many people,” Lark said, steering towards a more hopeful topic. “Heavy lifting, brush burning, construction, you can find work here. I know it.”

  “But they hate me. I’m dangerous. Their stories about what we did were true, and now our neighbors fear us.”

  “I know,” Lark said, and she touched his arm. “I was there. I saw it. And I know there was no choice. But, now you can leave that behind. You can build instead of destroy. You don’t have to take another life, ever.”

  “How do I start, though?” he asked. “It’s not like I can start up a conversation with, hey, I used to torch enemy soldiers alive. Would you like me to burn some trash for you?”

  “Well, maybe without that first part,” Lark suggested.

  A rattling sound from down the lane halted the conversation. After a few moments, it was accompanied by a female voice cursing and complaining in a very creative manner.

  James attempted to charge but was still almost comatose from being overly tamed earlier. Lark felt Garrison become alert next to her, his body tensed, and his feet shifted. He relaxed and took another long drink when Elinor Mayfield came around the bend, pushing a flower cart and cussing up a storm.

  Elinor was unchanged since Lark had seen her last, over ten years ago. She was ancient but vibrant. Her hair was a mess of wild gray frizz, and her face was tanned, lined, and punctuated with age spots. “Good!” she shouted as she set the flower cart down. “You’re here. Here’s the cart, and the vermin is inside. Good riddance.” She turned on her heel and headed back to the road. “Oh, and welcome home, dears!” she called over her shoulder.

  “I’m not afraid to admit that I am slightly terrified of that witch,” Garrison said.

  A scratching noise came from inside the flower cart.

  “Me too,” added Lark.