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Screw it.

My hands shake worse than ever, but I pick the jar back up and empty the rest of the contents into the pile.

“What in the Fates are you doing?” Branwen asks, watching me with absolute bafflement.

“Making us something to eat,” I toss back, uncorking the blue jar.

Gods, I hope these are what I think they are. There’s no label on this jar because, of course, there isn’t, but they have to be.

“I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this out loud, but maybe hunger is getting to you. Idril, love… you can’t eat dirt.”

I snort a laugh and tip the jar over. One by one, what look exactly like small oval stones with a texture like roughened tree bark spill out of the jar and into my waiting palm.

Biting my lip anxiously, I set aside all but one and hold it up for closer inspection. It’s small, the color of dark clay, with a rigid texture, about the size of a walnut.

It’s not a walnut, though. It’s something so, so much better.

A peach pit.

And if it’s not, that’s unfortunate, because it is now.

I glance up, meeting Branwen’s confused expression with a smile. “I’m not eating dirt. And if we’re lucky, neither are you.”

“Oh. Well, that’s lovely to hear.”

My legs start to hurt, so I sit down, cross them, and scoot closer to the dirt. I dig my fingers into the soil, surprised at how warm and damp it feels. The entire room and everything in it just seems so alive.

Perfectly, beautifully alive.

The trembling in my hands isn’t just from exhaustion any longer. A feverish focus fills me. A determination I’ve rarely felt before. I take a peach pit and place it into the soil, pressing it down until the Earth covers it.

“I don’t understand. What exactly are you trying to do?” Branwen’s soft voice is closer now, right in front of me

“I’m growing us food,” I answer, and the confidence in my voice feels like it belongs there. “We are not going to die down here.”

“There’s no light, though. How can you grow something from a walnut? Do walnuts grow on trees?”

I shake my head, lean over, and place my hands on the soil. “It’s not a walnut. And the light doesn’t matter.”

The grit and warmth of the soil pressed against my palms, and I focus all my attention on that feeling. It’s warm and damp, the perfect environment to breed new life. In my mind, I imagine the peach pit settling into the Earth, shifting through the dirt.

Beneath my hands, the mound shifts as I envision a single root sprouting from the pit, shooting through the Earth and claiming this place as its own.

From there, the roots split and spread out in every direction, colors changing from white to green to brown in the blink of an eye.

“I don’t think it’s answering you,” Branwen whispers, but there’s a thread of hope in her voice that wasn’t there before.

I keep one eye closed but open the other, smirking at her as the soil shifts once more against my palms. “That’s fine. Because I’m not asking it.”

Just a few heartbeats later, the warm Earth grows even warmer under my hands. The pile trembles and shakes as warm air stirs around me, lifting tendrils of my hair to flutter against my cheeks. I can feel the roots stretching further before the growth changes direction and pushes vertical, the soil shifting once more to make room for⁠—

“Oh, fuck!”

My eyes flutter open at Branwen’s exclamation, right as a tiny green shoot breaks through the dark soil. I move my hands, lifting them just enough for the stalk to expand and grow, pushing higher into the non-existent sky.

It grows so fast I’m afraid to blink, expanding thicker and climbing taller with every breath. Branches split off, stretching in every direction, creating a skeletal canopy above us. Then, with a burst of color, leaves sprout from the branches, unfurling and trembling with new life.

I push to my feet, feeling the life pulsing from me into the tree as it grows. I can feel its desire to bloom. To become more. Soon, encouraging it to grow feels as natural as breathing.