Deep Roots (Iris' Atlantis 2)

I dug my fingers into the mud, feeling up the deceptively thick root with my fingertips. I pinched it between my thumb and middle finger and started, very slowly, pulling it up from the ground. Steadily.

There was a faint snap. And suddenly I found myself sitting on the ground with a broken root in my left fist.

I sighed. And tossed it into the bushes. I wiped my forehead in my shirt. The fabric corner came back slightly less white and more dirty.

After a week of practice, I was becoming a passable weeder. Also an OK wood hacker, a novice fireplace lighter and a moderately good rainy day reader.

I straightened my back and turned my face to the sun. I had been crouching in the garden for three days. There were muscles and joints that hurt that I hadn't known I owned.

The right hand throbbed less now.

Once I was done, I would go back up to the house and change the bandage covering. It was equally gray streaked as the rest of me.

Well, my left hand wasn't streaked. It was just dark gray.

I flexed my fingers in thoughts.

Maybe I was done for the day. Rose had just asked me to take the worst out.

And I thought I had done that.

At least now I wasn't sure anymore that I could reliably recognize what was a weed and what would grow to become a bean.

I had never before in my life seen a bean sprout. Or the leaves of a potato. Or an onion sprouting anything green. Or the pumpkin flowers.

I rose up. My back was absolutely killing me!

There was a huge plastic tub waiting by a shrub of nettles where it gathered rain water. I stumped the plants carefully with my boots to avoid burning and filled up a nearby watering can. Then I poured water straight onto my head.

It felt heavenly. The sun was setting, but it had been a hot day.

I shook my head as dry as it would get, savoring every droplet that fell to my neck.

Then I left the can back in the nettle shrub and returned to the garden.

Rose's garden wasn't as big as I had first feared. But it was more than a few planters and an apple tree. She had some vegetables and edible roots here. Some strawberries too. And there was almost an orchard's worth of plum trees on one side. Rose had pruned the vegetation below them yesterday. I could still only employ myself in one handed tasks.

I sat under the shade of the nearest pine tree, looking at the garden. I rested my head against the relatively soft trunk and closed my eyes. I felt good. My back was maybe slightly tired, and I wondered if my nails would ever be clean again, but otherwise it wasn't bad. Simple. I just did my best in what Rose asked, and she taught me what I couldn't do.

Oh, her son hated me. He visited his mother almost daily, and I could feel he disliked me intensely. But I had also gained a friend in Nettle, a young woman I had met at the library. She had come to visit a few days ago, riding a gleaming motorcycle. I had woken up to the sound of it. Rose had invited us both for breakfast and I had had a chance to tell the girl I liked the book she had recommended. We hadn't talked much, but the conversation had been pleasant. It seemed I was as impressed by her doctor's studies as she was, for whatever reason, impressed by my language studies. She had promised to visit again soon.

Other visitors I hadn't had.

Sometimes I could feel the elf or elves somewhere nearby, but only when I was about to go to sleep and my consciousness was more open than during the day. It hadn't come to accuse me again, yet.