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C andlelight glinted off the smooth oak table as Elowen rolled up her sleeves and dipped a rag into a bucket of hot water. Her older brother Alder had been busy with his drawings overnight. With paper costing what it did, Father reserved their few sheets for keeping farm records, forcing Alder to leave his artwork in whatever spaces he could find. His youthful attempts at whimsical flowers and pixies decorated Elowen’s bedroom window frame alongside Mother’s delicate butterflies and bumblebees. Every other window frame upstairs and down had since been decorated by Alder alone, and the family let those stand, cherished and untouched.

Once upon a time, they could afford paper, sheets and sheets of it. Some of those lovely drawings on paper still hung from the wooden walls of the kitchen. Elowen had preserved each one over the years, taking over Mother’s job of displaying each masterpiece in line. As Alder’s scribblings had grown more detailed and confident, the vibrant colors had slowly diminished until the last green pencil was scraped into the shape of a tadpole and all that remained was a thousand shades of slate and coal and foggy grey.

Elowen had abandoned her own book of sketches long before Alder ran out of colors. Her drawings had always been less creative and more practical—which grasses grew on which hills and what a bluebell looked like during each stage of growth. She’d hoarded a pencil or two and filled up the margins in all the books in the house while her brother drew castles and fairies on the backs of his childhood drawings.

After admiring the elegant charcoal lines of a pegasus riding the clouds across the oak table, Elowen heaved a sigh and reluctantly began scrubbing the wood. She wouldn’t deny Alder the use of her workspace for his creativity once she finished for the day, but she also wouldn’t make him destroy his drawings himself each morning. Father would never do it, even to clear the surface so his son could draw again.

Alder was fond of drawing winged creatures lately. The night before, it had been a crow in a lightning storm, and before that, a delicate hummingbird. He’d be drawing dragons soon. Perhaps Elowen could persuade the dragon who’d been lurking in the nearby woods hunting mushrooms to stop long enough to pose for him.

She understood the meaning behind his subject matter. Alder wanted freedom. The son of a farmer with the heart of an artist, he longed to exchange dirt stains for paint smudges, a plow for brushes, and wooden tabletops for real canvases.

She rinsed the rag and then rubbed off a dark wing. If only she could give Alder his heart’s desire. But they needed him. Their farm needed all four of them to run smoothly—Father, herself, Alder, and Cedar, the youngest at twelve, who tried to fill the shoes of three sons at once, but who frequently tripped over his own feet in his eagerness. The farm needed all four of them to run at all. They’d once had four times four people bustling around the place, but after Mother’s passing and two bad harvests, the four of them were all that remained.

Perhaps one day, Elowen could find an eligible suitor, someone kind and hardworking who wouldn’t be frightened away by too many untended fields, too many broken fences, and too many roofs needing repair. Someone who saw and cherished her alone, apart from the farm itself, as Mother had. Perhaps then, she could fulfill both their hearts’ desires. A girl could wish.

She tossed the rag into the sink. There. All clean. Alder’s canvas would be ready for his next masterpiece after supper. She tied a kerchief around her chin-length blonde hair and started on breakfast.

An hour later, they sat around the table eating plates full of pan fried potatoes and oyster mushrooms and a boiled egg each.

“These are the last of the mushrooms the dragon brought us,” Elowen said after savoring a mouthful.

“Maybe he’s still around and will bring us more,” Cedar said and then crammed a spoonful into his mouth.

Father shook his head. “Darnedest thing I ever saw. Big ‘ole dragon lying in the grass studying mushrooms like they were works of art. Mannerly, though.” He looked pointedly at his younger son. “Mighty neighborly of him to offer me the mushrooms he’d gathered for his own dinner to make up for traipsing through our woods and disturbing our livestock.”

Cedar swallowed and looked at his plate.

Alder ruffled his brother’s hair, the same golden yellow as Elowen’s. “He’ll be gone by now. A dragon without a human companion won’t stay in one place long.”

Fortunately, Father had been the only one to meet the dragon. If Alder had seen him, he might have tried to convince him to fly them off to the king’s city, where he could find a patron and paint to his heart’s content. And if Elowen had seen him ... well, there were a hundred and one jobs on the farm that needed doing, and a dragon could have made quick work of half of them. But they had no coin to hire a human, much less a dragon.

And she had no business wishing for something even as simple as the freedom of flying when there was so much work to be done.

Elowen stayed behind to clean up while Father and Alder went to tackle the most pressing job. Cedar tried to scurry out the door behind them without being seen.

“Hold it right there,” Elowen said, waving a ladle at him.

He smacked the door frame with his hand and turned slowly. At twelve, he still had to look up to meet her eyes. Barely.

She gestured towards the back door. “Wood bin needs filling.”

With a gusty sigh, Cedar stomped through the room. “Aw, Elle. I can do that when we get back. I want to go help with the hedge fence. They’ll be done before I can do anything.” His complaints followed him out the door.

Elowen sighed and piled the dishes in the washbasin. Cedar knew she needed help around the house, but he preferred to be out in the fields doing anything else. She would prefer not being the one to always remind him, but they all did what they had to. Besides, she and Cedar would both help repair the fence just as soon as they could get away from their regular chores. After the storm a few nights ago had downed a tree and damaged the hedge, they needed to get the fence taken care of before the wolves returned to carry off the remaining flock of chickens.

Flock of chickens. Since when did nine hens and a scraggly rooster make a flock? She pumped water into the basin and scrubbed a wooden plate. When she’d been Cedar’s age, they’d regularly hatched twice twelve chickens and more each year—but that was eight years ago, when Mother was still alive.

Elowen finished the dishes and went to the back door to fetch Cedar, who’d filled the wood bin to overflowing and had started a stack to the side. “Let’s go, then.” She tucked her hatchet into her belt, pulled on a pair of old leather gloves, and followed Cedar to the field.

Father and Alder were pounding wooden poles into the ground on top of the earth mound that served as the base of the hedge fence. The giant oak that had crushed the section of honey locust trees had already been chopped and cleared away, leaving behind three sad stumps and armfuls of thorny branches.

“Ah, good, you made it,” Father said, straightening and stretching his back as he addressed Cedar. “I’ve got a job just for you.”

Cedar beamed and clapped his gloved hands together in anticipation.

Father pointed to the branches. “Those will need to be dragged to the edge of the woods.”

“Dragging branches? Can’t Elowen do that? I want to help put up the posts with you and Alder.”

“We’ve all got our part to play. Go on now.”

Cedar pursed his lips and sighed deeply, nostrils flaring, but he climbed over the earth mound to the outside of the fence and yanked the first thorny branch from the pile. As he made his way across the meadow to the edge of the forest, Father and Alder got back to work.

“Strip us a few more poles, will you, Elle?” Father called over his shoulder.

Elowen approached a nearby stack of branches and grabbed one as thick as her arm. Using her hatchet, she shaved off the smaller twigs and leaves, smoothing it to be used as a support for the dead hedge that would replace the decades-old honey locust trees that had been destroyed. Father might be able to coax the remaining stumps to regrow into a useful hedge once again, but it would take years. The poor chickens couldn’t wait that long to have protection from predators.

The morning wore on and clouds crept onto the horizon. Elowen fetched a cold lunch from the farmhouse, and they all rested before returning to work. Having finished their previous jobs, she and Cedar cut scrubby branches and small saplings for Father and Alder to weave between the posts.

Back bent under his bundle, Cedar trotted to keep up with Elowen. “How many more of these do we need today?”

She tossed her bundle onto the growing pile. “As many as we can. Tomorrow I have to start getting the cherries in, so you’ll be down one helper.”

“Will you make cherry tarts?”

“Don’t I always?” She helped him throw his bundle on top of hers and ruffled his hair.

A cacophony of birds broke the silence, and Alder straightened and stared into the woods. “Do you hear that?”

Father continued working without a glance. “The dragon, most likely.”

High-pitched neighs and a shout followed his words.

“Did Greggin’s team get loose again?” Cedar bounced on his toes, seconds away from running to see for himself.

Elowen shaded her eyes, doubtful that their neighbor’s horses would have run into the dark woods. A few trees rustled, but it could as easily be a breeze as a dragon. More shouting sent a chill up her spine, and she gripped her hatchet tightly. “Whatever’s in there is coming this way fast.”

Something large rattled branches and underbrush and then crashed into the meadow.

“A unicorn!” Cedar jumped up and down in excitement.

A juvenile unicorn galloped across the grass, its pale green coat and flowing mane in sharp contrast to its thunderous mood.

“It’s coming straight at us,” Father yelled as he pushed Alder ahead of him. “Move!”

Elowen wanted to stop and stare as much as Cedar—she’d never seen a unicorn before—but instead, she grabbed Cedar’s wrist and pulled him along the fence line in the opposite direction.

The young unicorn slowed when it saw the fence. Glancing over its shoulder, it continued running until it collided with Elowen and Cedar’s neatly piled branches. Thoroughly entangled, it thrashed its gangling limbs and whipped its head back and forth, slicing wood with its horn as if it were butter.

“Hey!” Cedar shouted. He yanked his arm free of Elowen’s grasp and darted towards the unicorn.

She grabbed him around the waist and crushed him against her. Branches were made to be broken. She wouldn’t have her brother crushed in defense of them. “Don’t! Those hooves are as sharp as the horn!”

“But we worked hard collecting all that!”

She ducked against a shower of flying twigs. “Then we’ll do it again. Stay put!”

The young unicorn bucked and kicked the hedge with a whinnying scream.

Two more unicorns ran from the woods, adults in pursuit of the wayward juvenile. The pure white one in the lead shouted in a deep, commanding voice, “That’s enough, son!”

The female unicorn peeled away from him. “I’ll try to herd him back into the woods.” As she sped up, she became a lime green streak and disappeared around the corner of the hedge fence.

His parents’ appearance only intensified the colt’s behavior. He slashed at the fresh section of fence, shredding it in a matter of moments with his horn. Father and Alder kept running and didn’t even glance back at the sound of the cracking wood.

“It’s not fair!” Cedar wailed.

No, it’s not fair! Elowen echoed inwardly. Once again, she was helpless, forced to stand aside and watch as an unstoppable force ruined something her family sorely needed.

The colt bounded over the dirt mound, now clear of barriers, and ran circles in the enclosure, realizing his mistake too late. The chickens had scattered to the far corners, but the geese honked and flapped after the intruder. Finally, the colt spotted the coop. With a running leap, he jumped on top and then soared over the nearby honey locust hedge with ease.

“Apologies!” The white unicorn leaped over the destruction caused by his son and followed him over the coop.

Another high-pitched neigh and the rumble of retreating hooves.

Finally, quiet settled over the farm once again.

Cedar wriggled free of Elowen’s arms and fell to his knees. She put a hand on his shoulder, partly to comfort him but also to keep herself standing strong. He shrugged her off. With a sigh, she began picking up the debris, making one pile for kindling and another smaller pile of branches in lengths still long enough to use for the fence.

Father entered the enclosure through the wooden gate on the far side. He joined Elowen and got down to work. “Nothing to be done but start again.” He glanced at Cedar as he spoke. “We’ll weather this setback as we have all the others. We’re rooted deep.”

Perhaps she and Cedar were rooted to the land as deeply as Father, but Alder, despite his name, was ready to fly away on his own. Too many more setbacks, and Elowen would no longer be able to keep them all together.

Stay strong, my little sapling. Mother’s final words had twined around Elowen’s heart and grown roots of their own. Elowen had done her best, even when the crops had failed one too many times and they had been forced to send their last servant away. A sapling might stand strong against storms in the midst of a forest, but alone ... the winds were more difficult to bear. Elowen’s forest had already grown thin, and she feared it might get even smaller.

Cedar heaved a deep breath in and out, and then he joined them slowly, shoulders slumped.

Father wrapped him in a quick hug and then pulled back and looked him in the eyes. “Go help your brother with the stock, yeah?”

Cedar nodded. When he reached the gate, he looked back at the mess. He secured the latch, kicked the post, and then walked away.

“He’ll be all right,” Father said, grabbing an armful of twigs. He continued, as if talking to himself. “We’ll be all right.”

Elowen tried to ignore how much she wanted one of Father’s hugs. He wouldn’t offer, because she was strong.

“I’ll start getting the cherries in tomorrow, like I’d planned,” she said. “Perhaps we’ll get enough to hire some help—”

“No.” Father straightened. “I’ll not spend coin on hired help. Take Cedar with you in the morning. Alder and I can handle this. That dragon in the woods is buying us some time. The wolves and foxes won’t return for any chickens while he’s around.”

“Is he still around, though?”

“I’ve seen signs.”

She grabbed onto his words as if they were the hug she’d sought a moment before and found what comfort she could. Father wanted to believe the dragon was keeping them safe, so she would let herself feel some hope that he was still in the area.

Later after supper, they sat around the table and discussed their day as if a run-in with a juvenile unicorn throwing a temper tantrum was nothing out of the ordinary.

Well, Father discussed it with a yawn and focused on the work that needed to be redone. Cedar had recovered from the shock and spoke of the unicorns with wonder-filled eyes, while Elowen wished she’d been able to ask them if they had seen a dragon in the woods ... and perhaps get a close-up look at their glittering horns. She noticed Alder’s fingers twitching, a sure sign of his desire to draw whatever scene was in his mind’s eye.

Last month, Greggin’s house brownies had turned his sheep bright pink as a joke. Thankfully, they’d already been sheared, and the color had faded after a good rain. The next morning, Elowen had found a herd of charcoal sheep frolicking across the kitchen table and had left two in the corner for an entire week after tinting them pink with beet juice. Perhaps the unicorns would bring her brother back down to earth for a while.

THE NEXT MORNING, NO one mentioned the nearly-lime-green unicorn on the tabletop. Elowen wasn’t sure where Alder had discovered such a pigment—perhaps she’d given him ideas with the beet juice—but she couldn’t bring herself to erase it. She wasn’t entirely sure it would wash off.

“Best get those cherries picked before that storm gets here.” Father stomped into his boots and headed out with Alder, slamming the door against the wind.

While Cedar pretended to peek out the curtain, Elowen pulled on her own sturdy boots. “You heard Father. No dawdling.”

“I’m not.” He walked over to the table. “I just want to look at it one more time.”

“It will still be here when we get home.” She tightened the belt on her trousers and strapped on her hatchet over her tunic. Perhaps she would have to let Alder wash away this particular creation. The unicorn looked like she might leap from the table at any moment, and Elowen didn’t have the heart to wipe away those eyes.

Cedar grumbled but followed her to the barn to fetch the long ladder made specifically to reach high into the cherry trees. He carried the narrow end, while she hefted the wider bottom that would be planted firmly on the ground. Cedar wore a mended pack basket on his back and carried another slung over his shoulder.

Grey clouds roiled overhead, but the land stood fast, its colors muted and hushed in anticipation. Elowen ignored the urge to run back to her bed and hide under the blankets like she’d done as a girl during thunderstorms. They had to get as many cherries harvested as possible. Crows and brownies had already made off with a hefty portion of them.

“Watch out for that hole on the left.” She veered to the right, adjusting the ladder on her shoulder.

Five seconds later, the ladder wobbled as Cedar stepped in the hole. He muttered half-heartedly under his breath. “Stupid unicorns and their stupid hooves.”

They reached the grove with no more missteps and guided the ladder into the topmost branches of the nearest tree.

“Let me climb this time, Elle.” Cedar stood at the base of the tree, hands on his hips.

“And have you break your leg again? Absolutely not.”

“That was two years ago.” He crossed his arms. “I won’t fall. I’ve watched you a million times, and I know what to do.”

“Well, make this a million times plus one.” She wanted to let him help, but there was too much that needed doing to risk letting him get hurt again. She held out her hand. “Basket, please.”

His face fell, but he slung the deep basket off his shoulder and passed it over.

She shrugged into the leather straps, a twinge of guilt gnawing at her. “Next time, all right? We have to hurry today, but I’ll let you help me take the cherries to market. I asked Alder to stay behind this time.”

He shifted his feet, and a gleam of interest sparked in his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, really. And I’ll make you an extra cherry tart.” He would do anything for a rare trip into the village, and cherry tarts were his favorite, although they would have little fruit to spare. “But for now, I need you to be my support. My roots. Dig deep and hold on tight.”

With a nod and a determined look, he grabbed the ladder firmly while she climbed. Near the halfway point, she stopped and secured the ladder to the trunk using a rope from the basket. Cedar kept his station near the base, picking whatever low-hanging fruit he could reach.

Wind buffeted the treetops, making harvesting difficult, and raindrops splattered down in sporadic bursts. After a few hours the wind picked up, but they’d nearly cleared the third tree. Elowen pushed damp hair behind her ears, but it slipped loose again and tickled her nose.

Cedar yelled something from below, but the wind tore away his words before they reached her through the rustling leaves.

“What?” she yelled.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Dark clouds! Storm’s almost here!”

She swiped water from her eyes, but she couldn’t see much through the canopy. “Two branches left!” The second basket was almost full.

He gripped the ladder tightly as a gust of wind shook the grove.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Five minutes later, rain poured down in earnest. She braced herself against the trunk and stretched high to reach the last of the fruit, ignoring the swaying branches and trying to block out all distractions. Another cherry slipped from her fingers and fell at Cedar’s feet, where he stood on tiptoes picking from a low-hanging limb.

The ladder shuddered.

“Elle!”

“Almost done!”

“Elle, you gotta get down!”

The storm hadn’t yet hit in full force. She wasn’t abandoning the crop because of a little rain.

Cedar yelped and ducked behind the tree trunk. “What’s that noise?”

She could barely hear him over the wind, much less whatever noise he referred to. “It’s probably that dragon. I’ll be down in a minute.” She tossed another handful of cherries over her shoulder into the pack basket.

After the ladder shuddered a second time, she paused. Thunder sometimes shook the windows at home, but the thunder hadn’t closed in yet.

Boom—Boom! A flash of light beyond the trees punctuated the thunderclap.

Elowen reached for another cluster of cherries. Just a couple more handfuls.

The ladder quivered under her feet, and this time she felt the difference. Not wind. Not thunder. Not the storm at all.

“Elle!” Cedar screamed. “Trolls!”