Talking to Carrots

Hours had crawled by, the sun languidly shifting overhead in a lazy arc, and the inn’s garden was still in nasty state. It was close to noon and Indis was still surrounded by a wild, leafy mess, with little to show for all of her effort. Out of all the backbreaking, menial labor that was pushed her way, tending to the wild tangle of weeds and crops Delphine called a garden was by far her least favorite task.

“Blast and damnation,” Indis muttered under her breath. The bright green shoot she had thought was a weed turned out to actually be a carrot. The vegetable in her palm was pale, small, and underdeveloped, clearly not ready to be harvested. After a quick, surreptitious glance over each shoulder, she hastily jammed it back into the damp soil and piled dirt up around its sides. “There. No one will be any wiser,” she said, feeling utterly pleased with herself. Before scooting over to the next row of crops and weeds, she shot the vegetable she had just replanted a pointed glare. “If you don’t tell them, that is.”