Gardening #2

In the privacy of our home, I secretly applied the same mixture of my blood and water to a few Mogra plants. To my surprise, these plants grew just as easily and robustly as the others. Recognizing the significant value of the Mogra plant, with its powerful healing properties, I decided to keep this discovery a closely guarded secret. These plants could be invaluable in times of emergency, providing us with essential remedies when needed. Encouraged by this success, I also began to learn more about growing different plants, expanding our little garden's variety and utility.

Each morning, my routine began with tending to our garden alongside Kara, followed by our visits to the library. Despite the library's lack of magical texts—reserved, it seemed, for the highborn and their royal libraries—I found useful information on herbs and common plants. This knowledge became our lifeline, ensuring that we could sustain ourselves even when money was tight.

My days were now filled with the quiet joy of nurturing plants, a far cry from the chaos and uncertainty that had defined our lives not so long ago. The garden, once a simple patch of earth, began to flourish under our care. Kara and I took pride in watching our efforts bear fruit—literally and figuratively. Tomatoes, beans, and a variety of herbs soon filled the space, each plant a testament to our hard work and a source of sustenance.

In the afternoons, we would visit the library. Kara often read simple tales and stories while I delved into more practical texts. Though the books on magic were out of reach, the wealth of knowledge about plants and their properties was invaluable. I learned about different soil types, the importance of sunlight and water, and the myriad ways plants could be used for medicinal purposes. This learning was not just academic; it was vital for our survival.

The knowledge I gained also sparked an idea. If my blood could accelerate the growth of plants, could it perhaps be used in other ways? Carefully, I began to experiment, always ensuring my actions remained hidden. I didn't want to draw unnecessary attention or cause alarm. The secret of my blood's properties was too valuable and potentially dangerous to be widely known.

Eric, ever the pragmatic one, supported our endeavors silently. He noticed the growing garden and the changes in our food supply but said nothing, trusting in my judgment. His days were spent working various odd jobs Chara had helped him secure, bringing in a modest income that kept us afloat. Joshua, meanwhile, enjoyed his newfound friendships and the simple pleasures of childhood, blissfully unaware of the darker undercurrents that occasionally troubled my thoughts.

One day, while Kara and I were tending to the garden, she asked me about the different plants we were growing. I took the opportunity to teach her what I had learned, explaining the uses and benefits of each herb and vegetable. She listened intently, her curiosity piqued. It felt good to share this knowledge, to feel a sense of purpose and agency in a world that had so often left us powerless.

In the evenings, after the day's work was done, we would gather for dinner. Our meals, once sparse and repetitive, now included fresh produce from our garden. The difference was palpable. Not only did we have more variety, but the food tasted better, richer somehow. It was a small victory, but one that filled me with a quiet pride.

As the weeks passed, our garden grew into a symbol of hope and resilience. It reminded us that despite the hardships we had faced, we could still create something beautiful and sustaining. It became a sanctuary, a place where we could forget, even if just for a moment, the shadows of our past and the uncertainties of our future.

This newfound stability allowed me to look ahead with a cautious optimism. The immediate concerns of survival had given way to thoughts of the future. What else could we achieve? How could we continue to improve our lives? The answers were not yet clear, but for the first time in a long while, the path ahead seemed less daunting. We were no longer just surviving; we were beginning to thrive.