Chapter 4 - A Silent Harvest
Over the past few days, Tol and Clary had been swamped with work. The demands from the village and nearby settlements had kept them busy from dawn until dusk. Orders poured in for healing salves, energy potions, and remedies for various ailments. Some customers even arrived at their front porch, purchasing potions in bulk, eager to stock up before the changing season.
The apothecary smelled of crushed herbs and simmering concoctions, the air thick with the mingling scents of lavender, rosemary, and something acrid that clung stubbornly to the wooden shelves. Jars of preserved roots and dried petals lined the walls, their labels carefully inked in Clary's precise handwriting. The cauldron in the corner still bubbled faintly from their morning work, the surface shimmering with the last traces of a strengthening elixir.
Finally, as the backlog of work dwindled, Clary decided it was time for Tol to take a well-earned break. "You've worked hard enough," he told him. "Take the day to rest."
That afternoon, the two of them lounged in the backyard, which stretched toward the rolling hills and a dense pine forest beyond. The golden hues of the late afternoon sun bathed the landscape in a warm glow, casting long shadows over the gently swaying grass. The towering pine trees, their trunks thick and knotted with age, stood like silent sentinels at the edge of the land, their needles releasing a sharp, fresh scent into the crisp air. A gentle breeze rustled the branches, carrying with it the soft whispers of the forest beyond. Wildflowers, delicate and vibrant, peeked out from the underbrush, their petals nodding in the wind. Birds flitted through the trees, their melodies weaving into the peaceful atmosphere. Crickets chirped lazily in the distance, their rhythmic song blending with the occasional rustle of a small animal darting through the undergrowth.
Clary reclined on a chaise lounge, sipping her coffee, while Tol cradled a steaming cup of tea in his hands, enjoying the warmth against his palms. The table between them was made of sturdy oak, its surface worn smooth from years of use, and held a small tray with honey and biscuits. A few bees lazily hovered around, drawn by the sweetness lingering in the air. A blackbird landed near the edge of the garden, pecking curiously at the soil before fluttering away in a flurry of glossy feathers.
"You know," Clary mused, watching the clouds drift lazily overhead, "you've come a long way potion-wise. You can weigh ingredients with precision now, and you're even brewing some potions on your own."
Tol exhaled, setting his cup down on the small table beside him. "Yeah, I guess I've improved," he admitted. "But I still suck at charms. I've been trying to get a levitation charm right for a year now, and I just can't do it."
Clary smiled reassuringly. "You're still young. Magic takes time to settle, and everyone has their own pace. You'll come around."
Tol huffed but nodded, taking another sip of his tea. The warmth of it spread through his chest, mingling with the cool air that carried the distant scent of pine and damp earth.
After a moment of silence, Clary straightened up slightly. "Tomorrow, we're going on an expedition. Alice, the apothecary, will be joining us. We'll be heading out to pick herbs—dittany, some mushrooms, and whatever else we can find."
Tol perked up at that. A trip into the wilds, even for something as routine as herb gathering, was a welcome change from the monotony of brewing. "Sounds good," he said, glancing toward the distant hills where the forest thickened, the light dimming as the sun began its descent. He could already imagine the scent of damp moss, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the thrill of exploration that always came with stepping into the unknown.
Clary smiled over the rim of her coffee cup. "Better rest up then. It'll be an early start."
The sky was still a deep shade of indigo when Alice arrived next morning, a faint glow just beginning to touch the horizon. The air held the crisp bite of early spring, damp with the lingering chill of winter's retreat. Clary had been up for a while, already brewing tea in the kitchen, and as Alice stepped onto the porch, she was greeted by the warm, comforting scent of herbs and honey.
"Tea?" Clary offered, holding up a steaming cup as she nudged a small plate of biscuits toward their guest.
Alice gave a small nod, that ever-present, unreadable smile on her lips. "Thank you." Her voice was soft, almost absent, as if her thoughts lingered somewhere else entirely. She settled on the porch step, wrapping her fingers around the warm ceramic.
Tol yawned as he joined them, rubbing his arms against the morning chill. His pack was already slung over his shoulder, the weight of jars and provisions pressing against his back. He stretched, glancing at Alice, who sipped her tea with an almost meditative calm.
"You always up this early?" he asked, taking a biscuit from the plate.
Alice tilted her head slightly, dark hair falling in loose waves around her face. "Spring wakes me," she said simply, her tone matter-of-fact. "Everything stirs just before dawn."
Clary took a sip from her own cup. "It's true," she mused. "Early spring is fickle. The frost still lingers, but the earth is already waking up. You can hear it if you listen."
Tol frowned, chewing thoughtfully. "Hear what?"
Alice smiled faintly, glancing toward the garden beyond the house. "The ground softens. The trees stretch. The roots drink. If you stop and listen, the world is always speaking."
Tol wasn't sure if she was being literal or poetic, but he decided not to question it. Instead, he finished his biscuit and slung his walking stick over his shoulder. "Well, I guess we should get moving."
By the time they set off, the sky had begun to lighten, a soft watercolor of lavender and gold spreading across the horizon. Their path led them through the quiet outskirts of the village, past fields still laced with the last breath of winter frost. The scent of damp earth and budding greenery filled the air, mingling with the distant smoke from morning hearth fires.
Alice walked at a steady pace, her stride measured despite her smaller frame. Though she rarely spoke, she seemed attuned to everything—the shifting wind, the faint rustle of animals stirring in the underbrush, the way the light caught on dew-speckled grass. There was something ancient about her, despite her youthful appearance, as if she carried the wisdom of years far beyond her own.
Clary took the lead, guiding them toward the forest's edge where the trees stretched high and dense, their needles glistening with moisture. She glanced back at Tol. "You'll like this place. It's different in the spring, more alive."
Tol adjusted his pack, inhaling deeply. The scent of pine and damp earth filled his lungs. "I hope it's warmer in there."
Clary laughed. "Give it a few hours. The sun will catch up soon."
Alice, walking beside Tol, finally spoke again. "Spring isn't warm or cold," she said simply. "It's both."
Tol glanced at her, waiting for more, but she only kept walking, her slight smile unchanged. He had the feeling she could say a great deal more if she wanted to, but maybe she preferred to let the world speak for itself.
After nearly two hours of walking, they reached a meadowland at the edge of the pine forest. The sun had risen, casting golden light over the mist-laden grass, yet the air still held the crisp sharpness of dawn. Wisps of fog drifted low over the meadow, curling around their legs as they stepped through the dewy ground. The scent of damp earth, pine resin, and the faint sweetness of early blooms filled the air, mingling with the distant chirping of birds greeting the morning. A light breeze stirred the tall, wild grasses, making them ripple like waves in a golden-green sea. Tiny droplets of dew clung to each blade, refracting the sunlight into shimmering beads. The pines at the forest's edge stood tall and unmoving, their dark needles catching the mist in a ghostly embrace.
Clary set down her pack and stretched, sighing in satisfaction. "Let's have a quick break before we get started," she said, pulling out a small bundle of sandwiches and a flask of tea.
Alice and Tol settled on the grass beside her. The meadow's ground was soft beneath them, a mixture of fresh new growth and remnants of last autumn's fallen leaves. Tol cupped his hands around his tea, letting the warmth seep into his fingers as he took a deep breath of the fresh morning air. Above them, a few scattered clouds drifted lazily across the pale blue sky, their edges tinged with soft gold. The air, though still cool, carried the subtle promise of warmth, as if the land itself was beginning to shake off the last remnants of winter.
As Tol gazed toward the forest's edge, movement flickered in the fog—a figure, tall and regal, its antlers rising like branches. For a heartbeat, a stag stood watching him, its silhouette blurred by mist. Its dark eyes seemed to hold some ancient wisdom, something just beyond understanding. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, swallowed by the shifting fog.
Tol blinked, his heart skipping. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated. Instead, he sipped his tea, letting the moment pass unspoken.
Once their short rest was over, they began their work. Alice knelt beside Tol, guiding his hands as she pointed out different herbs. "Look for the fine hairs on the stems," she murmured. "That's how you tell it apart from the poisonous ones."
The meadow was alive with tiny wonders. Clusters of delicate white and purple flowers peeked through the grass, their petals trembling with every breath of wind. Bees hovered over patches of bright yellow blooms, their droning hum blending with the chirping of crickets hidden in the undergrowth. Every step uncovered something new—a burst of wild mint releasing its sharp fragrance, a patch of mushrooms half-buried in the damp soil, the occasional flutter of a butterfly rising into the warming air.
Time passed in a rhythm of plucking stems, cutting mushrooms from the damp ground, and filling jars with fragrant leaves. Their hands became dusted with soil and crushed herb-scent, the baskets filling steadily as the morning stretched toward noon. The mist had fully lifted by then, leaving the meadow bathed in sunlight. The warmth settled over them, pleasant and steady, coaxing a sense of drowsy satisfaction as they worked.
By midday, their stomachs grumbled, and they sat again for another meal. The sun had climbed higher, warming the meadow and coaxing the last tendrils of mist to retreat into the shadows of the forest. Clary passed out another round of sandwiches, and Alice poured fresh water into their cups from a glass bottle that caught the light like liquid crystal.
Tol leaned back against the grass, gazing at the distant mountains. Despite the promise of spring, their peaks remained dusted in white, clouds lingering in their crevices like whispers of winter refusing to leave. He closed his eyes, trying to listen, not just to the birds or the rustling leaves, but to the unseen. The stretching of tree roots beneath the soil, the cracking of seeds breaking through the earth, the slow, patient hum of life waking up beneath his fingers. The ground felt rich and full, pulsing with quiet energy, like a heartbeat just under the surface.
When he finally opened his eyes, he realized he was smiling. Clary and Alice noticed, exchanging a glance.
Alice stood, brushing off her skirts. "It's time to head back."
Tol took one last look at the mountains, his breath catching as he thought he saw a shadow moving above the clouds. A great shape, gliding just beyond sight. Its movement was too steady, too deliberate to be a trick of the wind. A dragon?
Shaking off the thought, he rose to his feet and joined the others, helping pack up the carefully gathered herbs before making their way home. As they walked, the wind stirred through the grass again, and for a brief moment, Tol swore he could still hear the earth humming beneath his feet.
As Tol and Clary made their way back to the village, the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the quiet road. They were both exhausted, with the weight of the day's work settling heavily in their bones. The air, still warm from the sun, now carried a slight chill as they reached Clary's home. Alice, equally tired but still graceful in her departure, waved a hand and gave a tired smile before heading down the village road.
The clink of the jars as they settled on the workbench echoed in the otherwise silent garage. Clary didn't waste a moment. She moved quickly, already pulling out weeds from the batch. The sharp scent of crushed leaves filled the room as Tol silently sorted through the rest, carefully discarding the unusable. Despite the silence, there was a peaceful rhythm to their work, each of them knowing exactly what to do.
Once the weeds were sorted, Clary guided Tol toward the backyard, where the glass working bench stood under the dimming sky. The fading light made the glass gleam, and Tol marveled at the delicate craftsmanship of the drying area. He followed Clary's instructions closely, laying out the herbs in precise patterns that she showed him, mindful not to overcrowd the glass surface.
The air was still, only the soft rustle of the leaves overhead punctuating the quiet of the night. They worked together in unspoken understanding, moving in harmony as the last of the day's tasks were completed.
By the time Tol returned to the small guest room Clary had prepared for him, his body felt like lead. The quiet of the house, with only the occasional creak of old wood, seemed to lull him deeper into the exhaustion. He bathed quickly, the warm water soothing his sore muscles, and ate a simple dinner with Clary, where they exchanged only a few words.
He was already drifting off to sleep when he lay down, his body craving rest. But as the darkness of the room settled around him, memories of his mother flickered in his mind. He hadn't spoken to her in years. The ache of her absence never quite faded, but tonight, the silence felt unbearable.
"Today was a good day, Mother," he murmured into the quiet room. He closed his eyes, imagining her warm smile, the sound of her voice. "I helped Clary pick herbs… he showed me how to dry them." His words trailed off, as if he expected some answer, but the silence remained, just as it always had.
He wondered, for a brief moment, if she would have been proud of him. If she would have known how much he had grown, how much he had changed since she was gone. But the question hung unanswered, slipping into the shadows with the day's end.
The soft weight of sleep finally overcame him, and his last thought, as his mind drifted into dreams, was a simple one. I miss you.