He knew that some people might laugh at him. That it might look ridiculous. A strong, powerful former Huntsman, a highly regarded teacher at one of the most prestigious combat schools in Vale, who could stare down hordes of ravenous monsters with a cocky grin on his face.

Working with flowers.

But at the bottom line, Taiyang didn't care. He liked working in the garden at his home, and that was that.

If someone asked him why, there were all sorts of reasons that he could give. Like that it was relaxing; digging out weeds, making sure that the soil was damp enough, trimming errant branches, the simplicity was soothing. Or that it gave him something to do; after all, it wasn't like there was a whole lot else to do when he wasn't at the school, alone in a cabin out in the woods.

But if he had to give only one reason, it was that it wasn't actually his garden. He was just taking care of it for others.

It had originally been Summer's idea, the first time that Yang had cried. It had been a mission just like any other, but the toddler had wailed and begged for her adopted mother not to go. And, when Summer inevitably did, Yang had proceeded to sulk the entire time she was away. Nothing would console her, not her father, her uncle, not even playing with her infant sister. Looking back, Tai had to smile. She didn't do it often, but nobody could hold a grudge like his eldest daughter.

And it was astonishing how quickly that grudge evaporated, when she looked out the window one morning, and saw Summer kneeling in the grass outside their cabin, dirt streaking her hands as she hummed to herself, a crowd of roses and sunflowers sitting next to her. Yang had immediately rushed outside, blonde hair flying behind her, and tackled Summer to the ground, childish resentment forgotten.

They'd spent over an hour talking, Summer showing her how to take care of the delicate flowers, and quietly explaining why she always had to leave. Yang understood, of course she did, and no matter how much it hurt her when Summer left, she was proud of why. When Summer asked her to look after the garden while she was away, Yang had made a solemn promise that she would always do so.

Soon it had turned into a family activity. Yang and Summer would work with the flowers, and little Ruby would play in a hole she had dug for herself in the dirt. Sometimes the toddler would hide behind the flowers, with her mother and sister pretending that they couldn't find her, even though her constant giggling always gave her away.

Yang had made it perfectly clear that Tai had only one job; to help her carry the watering can. Every time she'd fill it to the brim, and she'd insist that she could carry it herself. Every time, the weight would prove otherwise, and she'd grudgingly accept her father's help. He could still remember the first time she had figured out that, if she filled the can just a little less, she could finally lift it. Both he and Summer had struggled not to laugh at her triumphant expression as she carried the can with tottering steps. Ruby had no such restraint, of course, but at her age Yang would forgive her sister of anything.

Even when Summer was away on a mission, sometimes for weeks at a time, Yang kept her promise. Every day she'd drag Ruby out to the garden to hunt for weeds, and when her little sister was learning how to talk, she'd try to teach her the names of the flowers. Tai had learned not to make them bathe until after such hunts, because every time the pair would return practically caked in dirt, though he was at least able to convince them to take their shoes off before coming inside. Making Yang clean up the tracks of dirt they'd left with nothing but a bucket of water and a sponge, coupled with the threat of making her clean the entire floor that way, had taught her the lesson fairly quickly. And as always, adoring Ruby followed her sister's example. And once in a while, the pair would carefully select the best flowers, so that there was always a fresh set in their parent's room.

Tai's hands slowed, his expression growing somber as his thoughts turned dark. It had been only a week after Ruby's 4th birthday when Qrow had brought the news about their joint mission. Even years later, Tai was still ashamed of the things he'd said, of how he'd blamed his brother-in-law and his damned Semblance. He was ashamed of how, in his darkest moments, he still did. And most of all, he was ashamed of how he'd acted afterwards. With Summer gone, it was as though he'd lost all ability to care about anything. He'd stopped going to work, stopped looking after the girls, for a time he'd even stopped eating. Hell, it had even been Qrow who had arranged the funeral, and while Tai may have been physically present for it, mentally he was simply gone.

He shook himself, forcing a smile onto his face as he dispelled the darkness. It had taken time, but in his heart, he couldn't abandon his family, or Summer's garden. It had become a tradition, albeit something of a backwards one. Even after Summer had died, Yang had still kept her promise, and when she was old enough, she'd passed it on to Ruby, who'd taken to it with gusto. Together, they'd taught Tai, and when Ruby was accepted into Signal, the responsibility had fallen to him.

So, there he was. Every time he came back from the school, he'd water and check the garden for weeds. Once in a while, he'd pick a new set for Ruby and Yang's room. Just in case. It helped him to remember how things used to be, and kept his thoughts from getting too dark. After all, this was their garden, and he had to look after it until they came back.

And they would come back. Eventually.

So focused was he on his task, that Tai actually missed the sound. But it couldn't suppress the instincts that had been honed by years of training and Hunting. The tingling sensation down the back of his neck, warning him. When he heard the wingbeats, he whirled around, his eyes fastening on the solitary blackbird climbing into the sky.

For a moment, he thought, It might not be her. But he knew better. Normal birds didn't set off his senses like that, it wasn't the right shape to be a Nevermore, and Qrow knew better. No, there was only one thing that it could have possibly been.

Tai sighed, a heavy weight settling around his shoulders and in his chest.

Raven.