Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 469(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
I laugh at that. She's not wrong. Tomatoes grow great here, but boy, by the end of summer, we'll sure be sick of them. "All right. I trust you. Let's rock and roll."
Sheree looks up at the waiting gardening crew, beaming. "You heard the lady. Let's get to work!"
The crowd, armed with spades and hoes and buckets, hats on their heads, scatter. Everyone in the fort takes gardening very seriously, to the point that anyone that arrives with a lick of gardening skill is immediately coveted. We've had a nearby fort—Fort Waco—try to steal away some of our gardeners over Christmas, but it ended up friendly all around, and in the end, we walked away with shared knowledge and promises to swap seeds. Pleased, I watch as the huge expanse of garden is worked on. I'd help out, but Gary would have my head if I tried, so I'm content to hug a book to my chest and just admire the efficiency of others as they plant, fertilize, and water.
Behind me, a man grunts, the tone questioning. I turn, smiling, and see a drakoni man there. Ah, one of the newcomers. He wears a kilt around his hips and someone has thoughtfully given him a lariat with a name badge on it that proclaims HELLO, I'M YAZEN.
"Hi, Yazen," I say brightly. A few of the women that used to be in the panty program have made themselves ambassadors to the drakoni that have been coming through. Not all stay, but enough are curious about the settlement and the people that it's not uncommon to see golden-scaled and red-scaled people walking amongst the humans of the fort. "I'm Melina."
He grunts again, and then moves his mouth in an exaggerated fashion. "Hey-lo."
I beam approval at him. It's been an uphill climb for the drakoni since the Rift closed for good. They're no longer crazed, the madness having disappeared as quickly as it came, but without mental speech, they're having to learn how to speak aloud for the first time. It's difficult for them but I never mock their attempts, because they're trying.
Yazen holds a plant out to me, a frown on his face. He makes a gesture like he wants to hand the plant to me, but when I reach for it, he pulls back and bares his teeth. Okay, he's not wanting to give me the plant. "Yes?" he asks and then nods at Sheree. "Yes?"
I try to decipher what he's asking, studying the plant in his hands. It's not one of the ones from the garden, I realize. He's got roots hanging out from between thick golden fingers, and it looks as if it's in danger of wilting if it doesn't get planted soon. I stare at it and then glance up at Yazen. He's watching Sheree with a look of pure longing.
Aaaah. "You want to give the plant to Sheree?"
"Shar-ee," he agrees with a nod, and gestures at the plant cradled in his claws. "Yes." Then he gives me another questioning look, as if he's asking for permission. I know some people are still afraid of the drakoni—they might always be—but Sheree isn't one of them. If this is his awkward way of courting our gardener, he's welcome to. Sheree's a widow, so I don't think she's involved with anyone.
I smile at him and give an encouraging nod. "I think she'd like it."
For a moment, poor Yazen looks nervous. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, and then takes a few steps forward. "Shar-ee?" he calls out, and when she turns, he practically thrusts the plant under her chin, a mute look of hope on his face.
"Oh," Sheree says, blinking with surprise. "Oh my goodness. Thank you, Yazen." She blushes, and for a moment she looks like a schoolgirl instead of a mature woman with gray streaks at her temples. "Do you want to help me plant it?"
"Yes," Yazen replies, grinning at her.
Aw. That makes me happy. I think of my own dragon-man, who's probably being chased down by a million assistants. There's never a moment to rest for poor Azar. If it's not figuring out how to widen the streets or create sturdier houses, it's a well going dry or planning to expand gardens. It's militia drills and scavenging runs and chore rosters and a dozen other small tasks that eat up his day.
He loves it, of course. He loves that people listen to and respect him for his intelligence and not his brute muscle, and lately his reading has been about homesteading and woodworking, just because he wants to have the knowledge that people need. He's firmly thrown himself into running the fort, and not because he wants to impress me or to have power. I think at this point he genuinely wants to see it turn into a flourishing city, one that everyone can be proud of.