06-05-2008, 01:06 PM
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The garden was growing and Pilot felt like he really had done something well. At the back of the small plot of herbs, he had planted a small bunch of flowers as well. They were pretty – a pristine white – though he wasn’t sure of its name. He had flipped open his book on medicines to see if he could perhaps find it in there, but had yet to discover it. Until he got his hands on a book full simply of flowers, he wouldn’t know that their name was really Rue anemone. In his mind he called them Dierdres.
He got on his knees, pulling up weeds that were just reaching into the paths of the other plants. His twine necklace hung from his neck – the obsidian arrowhead twirling at the end of its length. Thick clouds remained overhead, yet the summer heat persisted. There had been plenty of thunderstorms lately, driving most into their dens. This had prevented Pilot from traveling to Twilight Vale. Both of his sons were getting much older. He couldn’t believe it had already been two months since the fire.