Shannon stirs.
[Damn. What time is it?]
Eyes creaking open, the window revealed the edges of gold that were slowly permeating into the residual purple and pinks of the night. Giddiness is tickling the corners of her lips, threatening to form a smile. Excited energy races through her body, digits twitching in anticipation. Her gaze rolls to the clock.
05:31
She huffs.
[Kyurem. The deal was 06:00.]
-That is correct. The gardening begins at 06:00; however, I know that you humans need time to wake up and prepare for the day. There should be plenty of time for 'getting ready' and breakfast.-
It speaks quickly, eagerness bursting in its tone. She pictures Kyurem bobbing up and down like some hyperactive torchic, bouncing on the balls of its talons. What a kid.
[Fine, fine. You've already woken me up anyway. Geez.]
She jumps out of bed with a surprising grace or her age, easily transitioning into a series of stretches. The grogginess that usually accompanies the early morning has already faded, usurped by a youthful vigor. The tips of her extremities prickle with an icy chill. With a muttered swear, she straightens and heads for the kitchen.
She grabs a few storage bins from under the sink and begins filling them with ice. The cold finally recedes as she fills the fourth one. Looks like she'll be going to the market later.
[I know you're excited, but sending this much energy is a bit much.]
-Sorry…-
Its mood dims, sensitive to scolding as always. Shannon can't help but feel a little bad.
[Hey now. It's getting warmer. I'm sure folks will appreciate the ice. Now perk up! Just a quick meal and change of clothes, and it's planting time!]
With its attention back onto the promise of planting, Kyurem's mood springs right back. She keeps to her word, gulps down a smoothie and gets her gardening clothes on. Then she gathers the necessary seedlings, seeds, and a few garden markers. The last frost has passed, so today they will be planting peppers, beans, tomatoes, and basil in the food garden. A beaming smile finds its way onto her face, and she has the urge to coo tenderly. Only one being enjoys gardening that much, and it isn't her.
-May I?-
Shannon sets the supplies aside, and sits down. It's been a while since she and Kyurem had switched places. Best to give it time to readjust to the human body.
[Yeah. I know you've been waiting for this.]
She leans back and closes her eyes. Kyurem opens them. It tests the joints and muscles, flexing and stretching. Carefully, it rises using the table for support. Humans have a different sort of bipedal locomotion. After a few laps around the kitchen and practicing the use of the marvellously convenient thumb, it's feeling reasonably confident. Humming an odd tune, Kyurem gently transfers the seedlings into a basket, leaving a bit of room on the sides for the seed packets and garden markers. Each seedling is evenly spaced in their tiny fiber pots, washcloths placed as needed between them so that they don't tumble when rocked as the basket moves. Satisfied with their placement, it inspects the sprouts from various angles. Are any falling over? Any discoloration? Any—
[Alright. Enough babying them. They're hardy like me.]
Kyurem puffs its cheeks as it pouts.
-But they are young. Is it not natural to 'baby' those in their earliest forms of life?-
[Compared to you, everyone is a baby.]
Ah, yes. That would be the natural comeback, now wouldn't it? But Kyurem is ready with its own counter.
-I suppose. But if that is the case, then these are extremely young, thus in need of more care.-
Smugly, Kyurem finishes the checkup as Shannon waits impatiently. Finally it heads out the front door, cradling the basket in its arms. The soft crunch of the dirt pairs well with the cool morning air. Each step is a rhapsody, taking it closer and closer to the finale!
Well, to the planter actually. (But let's not ruin Kyurem's fun!)
Squatting down, Kyurem looks at the basket in contemplation.
-What should we plant first?-
[You can start with the peppers and tomatoes. Be sure to plant one seedling per square foot.]
-Understood!-
Kyurem nods seriously before retrieving the trowel from its gardening belt. Under Shannon's more practiced eye, it manages to space the seedlings properly. Automatically, Kyurem reaches for the basil, ready to do the same.
[Woah! Hold on there. Basil plants don't need as much space. You can do two per square foot for those.]
It pauses.
-I see. Thank you for the direction. Would it be the same for the beans as well? I would assume not, since you did not pair it with the basil in your instructions.-
Shannon laughs. It's good to see Kyurem tempering its excitement and thinking ahead.
[Oho.~ That's right. The beans we're planting are bush beans, so you can plant four per square foot.]
Kyurem glows with pride, rosy cheeks and an obvious smile. The rest of the planting flies by without any further error. It wipes its brow, taking in the neat rows and lovingly handwritten garden markers. Kyurem looks at its borrowed body, skin dusted in sweat and grime, gaze stopping at its gloved hands. Human hands can do so many things that claws never could. Their bodies don't generate ice either. They're warm, able to nurture life on the inside and outside. Its face falls and Kyurem feels a hollow pang in its chest.
It's almost time to switch back.
[What's the matter? Sad that there's nothing left to plant? If you really want to keep gardening so much, you can pull some weeds. Just don't blow out my back.]
Shannon speaks with a joking tone, not reading too much into Kyurem's sudden morose mood. Considering its zeal for gardening, it's a natural conclusion to reach.
Not wanting to dwell on the feeling, Kyurem gladly goes along with Shannon's misinterpretation. It doesn't need another subject on its long list of laments. As morning gives way to day, Kyurem returns to the incorporeal.
It waits for the next time, though there aren't many left. The time for transfer is approaching. From what it knows, the new vessel is a trainer. Maybe she likes gardening. Or at the very least, has house plants. Kyurem tries to hope, tries to be optimistic.
Anything to get this bitter ache of longing out of its heart.