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Harlow was softly stewing.

Not enough to pass across her features but enough for her to not engage in conversation.

The hamlet that she and Atlas were heading to was about an hour or two away from Daggerroot Manor.

What she expected was that the Spellsaven would use their unlimited portal license to… let’s say...

PORTAL THERE… but here they were, walking the tightly packed dirt roads.

The fact the weather was so cheery only made her stew more.

It was also at this moment that she noticed the silence didn’t bother Atlas.

They were cheerfully stopping every few feet to pick a long-stemmed flower and weave it into an admittedly rather intricate flower crown.

The flowers, individually, could be dried and processed for the base of a cleaning spell but otherwise were completely useless.

Stewing in her own slightly bad attitude, Harlow couldn’t bring herself to inquire just what their intention with it was.

Taking a break from reciting useful spells in her mind that the residents might need, Harlow realized that even if she wanted to she didn’t really know how to strike up a conversation from out of the blue.

At one point was the ease of talking to strangers or people you just met a thing that younger people were capable of? Why with more life experience was it hard to reach out, to start that conversation?

Instead of just going for it, Harlow chose instead to overthink every word in the question “What are you making that for?” as well as any way that each of those words could change with inflection.

By the time she settled on the perfect combination of wording – “That’s an interesting flower sculpture”

– just in case it was not a crown, and she would be caught assuming – her thoughts were interrupted by a sight down the road.

The silhouettes of the town up ahead were just visible as the trees on either side parted.

It was not any kind of special-looking town compared to any of the others.

It had a fair mix of wooden slats and some of the more permanent buildings...

mostly shops… had stonework likely carved out of the quarry not too far away.

But the town was sweet and small.

The kind of place that people from the busier cities would go to retire and live out their days.

Which was always kind of a silly thought to Harlow.

She had grown up in the city, but it wasn’t a stretch to wonder why people left to smaller towns.

As if the business of the city would mean less busy work for you.

Did they not understand that it would be the same amount of work if not more? You’d have to be an active member of the community.

You’d be one bad storm season away from not being able to live comfortably anyway.

Why was it you would “do your time” for the city community but then expect the rural/outskirt community to take your promise of work on your word alone?

The town here was a happy medium between that. There was a central road that held many shops from basic to highly specific, like Indigo’s dye shop. That, now that she thought about it, it was vaguely familiar. If memory served her right, then maybe it was the same place where she used to buy pigment reagents for certain spells; high quality and made by hand. Not produced like in Quarkosh.

Just as soon as Harlow was lost in the motions of watching the town’s movements and reading the signs, a few children ran to the main road, spied Atlas and shouted hellos as loudly as they could. One particular little one approached from behind the small group of children. They didn’t seem to try to speak, which was for the best as the other children were loudly chatting and requesting Atlas to do all sorts of magic.

“Fireworks, Spellsaven, a sea of fireworks!”

“Make me fly, Spellsaven!”

“Turn me into a rat, Spellsaven, then I can go scare my brother!”

Harlow stayed quiet, observing the tossing of hair and the way Atlas merrily interacted with the children. They conjured an elemental rabbit; it seemed to be made of snow, for as it hopped, it left snowflakes in the breeze in its wake. The children cheered and careened after the rabbit, eager to see who would catch it first. But the child that kept in the back didn’t run. She waited till they all left, and Atlas looked down at them with a large smile.

“Happy birthday, Sophia.”

Atlas bowed deeply, which caused a grin to spread across Sophia’s cheeks.

Upon her head, they placed the flower crown. The little one beamed and motioned for Atlas to come closer, in which they took a knee and leaned forward so Sophia could whisper in their ear. Atlas leaned back and laughed while Sophia took a step back.

“Well, consider it done, Sophia.”

There was a moment where Sophia stood, awkwardly clasping her hand and wiggling in place as if to decide how to respond before waving goodbye at Atlas and taking a step back to leave. Sophia stopped, turned to face Harlow, and then waved again before racing to catch up with the other children.

“What did she ask for, Spellsaven?”

Harlow placed bets even though Atlas asked for the use of their first name, they were not in the house therefore public appearances must appear to be ship-shape.

“Apprentice, I couldn’t tell! But perhaps I’ll ask for your assistance with it later.”

Atlas winked.

The two of them continued down the road until they got to a large stone building with a glorious glass front. There were tiers of various items in the windows, and it appeared to have an enchantment on the glass to not leave fingerprints. Cosmetic spells on smooth services like glass required a specialized frame. One exactly like this large pane of glass sat in. It wasn’t even that good of a guess, as most entry-level wizards learned this spell to pay it forward in the community.

Harlow leaned closer to the window and cast a quick detect magic spell. It revealed that the spell had built-in backups in case of weather or even purposeful damage. It was a rather tightly written and cast spell. Complicated and beautiful, even. With the detect magic spell she even was able to get the smell of the spellwork. One that smelled of campfire: Atlas’.

“Is this your work?”

Harlow slyly asked Atlas as they held the front door open.

“Of course. I traded a month’s worth of groceries for it and I’m still eating canned peaches from it.”

Atlas beamed with the bragging of their business savviness.

Harlow walked into the shop, “Buttons”, and looked around. If she was blindfolded and walked in, she would have sworn it was a bakery for the smell of baked breads, sweets, and the general warmth of the shop was like a fire-warmed shawl wrapped around her. The lighting – more of Atlas’s handiwork by the look of it – was warm and came from simple globe sconces around the room. The floor was wood and had matching large wooden shelving aisles packed with various foods and necessities.

“We get all our provisions from this shop, they deliver what we don’t carry, and we can have standing orders. I’ll introduce you so you can add whatever you’d like to the list.”

Although large, the shop did seem emptier than she imagined but as they approached the counter, Harlow noticed there was a whole separate cashier who seemed to be pulling a folder at a time, having a busboy run the shop who then returned with a basket and began to place them in large, uniform baskets and packaging. The cashier would make some kind of notes in the folder and then a different pair of individuals grabbed the baskets and packages and ran out the door. It seems this standing order business was something everyone participated in.

Fighting the urge to track down whatever smelled like warm butter rolls, Harlow waited patiently for one of the runners to return and approach the wizards.

“Ah Daggerroot, it’s good to see you!”

“As you, Tiberious! I’d like you to meet my apprentice, Harlow Hedgewater.”

“Quite nice to meet you, apprentice. How is the pragmatic troublemaker treating you thus far?” A tease.

“I’ve only arrived as of yesterday so… opinions are still out.”

Atlas grinned to back up Harlow who correctly caught on to the two’s relationship.

“Well, you came to the right place for recon.”

The tall raven-haired orc managed a quick wink.

“Hmmm, perhaps I should stay...”

Atlas feigned a suspicious glance between the two of them.

“You weren’t going to in the first place?”

Harlow cast a glance around, looking to see if there was a line of waiting quest givers or an emergency that escaped her.

“No, I have other things to attend to that I might as well tackle.”

The Spellsaven sounded like they wanted to do anything but what they planned. They didn’t even spare an insight into what that might be but the general lack of attention in their body, the droopiness as they groaned while they spoke sounded akin to a teenager having been asked to do a household chore.

“…sure… okay.”

Harlow began to doubt herself just then. Sure, adding groceries and other amenities was not a problem. “Should I come find you when I’m done?”

“No, that’s quite alright. I’ll give you a list of people to check in with.”

Harlow believed her face was expressionless but she must have winced outwardly after all. Harlow was a grown-ass woman. She had very much been able to function her whole life on her own. Her doubts were not about her own abilities but rather, how well she’d be able to make up for the warming presence Atlas gave this town’s citizens. She couldn’t live up to that. Fooling one target that she was a wizarding apprentice, sure, but a whole town of people who might be suspicious of anyone? That would be more difficult.

“Ha, do not worry. It’ll be a rather short list.”

She was slightly embarrassed to be discussing this in front of the shopkeeper, but it seemed having your wits about you and being ready for any sort of awkward situation was a regular thing with Spellsaven.

“Don’t you want to watch me so I don’t mess up?”

“Hah, what I will say is that I trust you. You’re capable, smart, and as I can tell, incredibly determined. You’ll figure it out your own way. Magic is but of a vessel of intention.”

Harlow wasn’t sold on it. Apprehension drenched her veins. This had to be a test. No doubt about it. Not even 2 hours had passed and a Spellsaven was leaving her alone with community members? A test indeed. If she messed up it wouldn’t affect her so much as the relationship the town had with their local wizard. And that was a delicate balance. Long repeated mistakes in community relationships were wrought throughout the contentious history. Many a wizard had been run off. Some were even replaced with hedgemages, sorcerers, or even… dare she say it… the deity-inspired (paladins, clerics).

A younger, more rebellious her would very much test this trust to its extent by taking her sweet time to answer the likely never-ending requests. But her performance was important, and like it or not, she was no longer a younger her, although maybe still just as rebellious sort of woman who would do as she was told but her way. If she wanted to secure that spot on the council she’d have to play along. Besides the spot at risk it was the favor of the Guild Master and although she wouldn’t like to admit it, the approval of her father figure was important to her. Being older meant realizing that you were your own person and yet still an amalgam of interpretations of what other people thought you were. For now, she wasn’t ready to risk cutting that cord. She wasn’t going to start over. So, if being an apprentice was what it took, then that’s what she’d do.

She’d pass whatever test this was. Or, perhaps it was that the Spellsaven wished to fuck off the rest of the day. The state of the manor might suggest this but Harlow had no other evidence of a lack of work ethic on Atlas’ part. Perhaps her natural apprehension of people in charge of her was falsely placed here.

Atlas reached within their robes to produce a pen and a rather wrinkled piece of parchment. After writing down a list of names, Atlas handed them both to a confused Harlow, who attempted to hand the pen back.

“Nah, keep it. Now you’ll always have one.”

They got her there. All that pocket space and not a pen in sight. Taking the tease at it was she placed it in a normal, unimpressive pocket of her pants and turned her attention back to the shopkeeper to give Atlas an out.

And they took that out rather quickly. The space they once occupied was now only a brighter and direct sight to a bread basket topped fully with buttered crescent rolls.

Harlow added various meats for delivery, a cardamom and cinnamon fine ground coffee, and other *THINGS* to the standing order after avoiding copious questions from the shopkeeper and various customers about Manor Daggerroot. (They oddly didn’t have many questions about the Spellsaven. Perhaps they’d had their fill of them already. Harlow could DEFINITELY see their eccentric nature tiring some people.)

Now with a crumpled list in her hands, she made her way down the center of town and looking to find all the lists, taking the opportunity to introduce herself as the apprentice whenever she could.

The shopkeeper drew a little map on the back of her list of the residences she needed to visit. (Along with a frowny face or a smiley face to indicate if he thought they were grumpy individuals or not.) She decided that if she could finish her list early enough, she might be able to leave a message with Tiberious that she went home (assuming Atlas wasn’t waiting for her) and then she could make it back to the Manor before them. That way she could get even a few precious minutes to search the manor without them in the house. And if/when questioned, she could easily reply that it was a misunderstanding. And that kind of excuse/situation could really only be used one time before suspicion could set in.

There was one name on the list now: Bethal. No last name, nothing but a frowny face. In fact, it was the only frowny face on the paper at all which begged the question, why even draw the smiley faces at all. Clearly overthinking it, she cleared her thoughts and continued down a path that wove around the town’s local garden park and next to a refuge for a CREATURE.

Gah, she had never seen one up close before and it was so tempting to just see if she could spot it from the road. Clearly it was taken care of by the community and the fact no one was around with no fences seemed to mean it would be fairly friendly as well. But duty called.

The property was outlined with various flowering plants; nothing seemed to be planted anywhere unless it had a flower. There was a modest two-story home in the center of the acreage. Cut stone, so it was expensive or an important building at one time. The grounds were maintained meticulously either by spell or by hand, Harlow didn’t bother to check. There’d be time for that much later.

Harlow knocked on the door and heard nothing in reply. She looked cautiously around her, tipping back. Perhaps she could visit this one another day… but Atlas had written the name down on purpose. So, they likely were expecting the Spellsaven at the very least. Giving it another shot, Harlow knocked again, with extra vigor just in case.

“Around back, Spellsaven!”

An older, feminine voice echoed from behind the building. Being cautious to mind the obviously very well-taken-care-of plants, Harlow tiptoed around the home utilizing the paving stones. She almost lost her balance a few times but managed to stay on task and on stones. When she rounded the corner, she noticed an older woman on her knees in full gardening gear: a large woven coned hat, linen leggings with extra padding in the knees, long sleeves and impressively large gardening gloves. She was surrounded by various tools.

Although the woman didn’t look up when she was within range, she did toss the trowel gently on the bed of flowers in progress of being planted, before standing and dusting her hands off on her pants.

She seemed taken back when her eyes squinted and she features pinched. “You’re not the Spellsaven.”

“Correct, I’m their apprentice, Harlow Hedgewater. The Spellsaven sent me to assist you.”

She managed her biggest smile, one with teeth even though she ached to cover them with a hand out of personal embarrassment.

“Well, you’re no good, off with you.”

She flitted her hand at Harlow, beckoning her to leave.

Excuse me? No good? She may not be Spellsaven but her work stood for itself. Sure, the Guild Master got her this job in his own way but she still had to do SO MUCH WORK. There were tests she had to pass all on her own, magic she had to wield in lieu of wanting to handle it with her hands, not her words, and here this old lady was telling her she wasn’t good enough. Pshaw, what could an old lady want from the Spellsaven out here in the middle of nowhere that she couldn’t do?

Harlow cleared her throat, using the action to manifest clearing the negative energy, and took a tentative step forward. “I’m afraid I’ve been assigned to help you, so please, at the very least, could you let me know what you’re in need of and if I cannot perform such a task, then I can better inform the Spellsaven for you?”

The old lady chuckled and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. I need my irrigation wheel to be constant.”

She gestured to a series of bamboo poles positioned all about the property, all irrigation lines being fed from a source that was currently out of sight.

There was a pause that Harlow needed to take for herself as she went through her mind to find out how this impossibly simple task would require anyone beyond a novice. Hells, even a first-year student could perform such a duty. There had to be something else wrong with it. Something unspoken. Perhaps this wheel was no ordinary wheel.

“OK, may I see this wheel?”

The old woman grumbled under her breath but nonetheless escorted her over the central line, and, well… it was just a typical bamboo-fashioned wheel. OK, so nothing unique.

“And you need it to run non-stop…?”

“Yes, so all I have to do is open the irrigation line and it’ll feed everything else through. I need it weather-proofed as well... And tamper-proof! Just in case that creature messes with it again.”

“OK, no problem.”

Harlow began to reach into her pockets, another feather in her supply turning to dust and now joining the almost overflowing pocket of reagent dust.

“—what are you doing?”

The old woman held out a hand as if to pause her from afar.

Harlow looked over her shoulder in confusion before turning back to the woman. “…I’m getting the reagents for the spell…”

“No.”

The depth in which this woman reached into her soul and spoke with her whole chest led to Harlow going instantly pale.

“Excuse me? What do you mean no?”

She remembered checking her tone as she spoke back, trying with all the patience she had to not sound offended or brash.

“I’m quite sure you know that no means no. I will not have you cast a spell right here.”

The old woman raised an eyebrow, studying Harlow’s reaction.

“Then... well… why not?”

Gaining any extra time to peruse the manor was fleeting before her eyes and Harlow tried REALLY hard not to roll those same eyes. What did this lady want from her?

“Because, just if anyone comes over here and throws spells around, it could upset the flowers!!”

The old woman seemed equally frustrated and gestured at the garden around them as if the answer was clear enough.

“It’s not like I’m throwing a spell to land anywhere. I’m an apprentice to the Spellsaven. I can manage a simple spell without any… ricochet.”

Harlow felt a pang of annoyance but more for Atlas than this woman. Was this why they suddenly had something to do? Did Atlas and this woman argue until the sun went down? Which one was more stubborn?

“Sure, sure, but my plants and I require a deft hand. One that I’ve only seen the Spellsaven use.”

Bethal’s eyes flicked down to Harlow’s stiffly presented hands.

Harlow stood there, unsure of what to do from here. She needed to cross this lady off her list but how was she going to do this if she couldn’t cast the spell? The wheel was large and needed to be in place for her to cast it. She couldn’t enchant it back at the manor and bring it back.

If the old woman only trusted Atlas, maybe she needed to act like Atlas… or in a way they themselves might approve of.

“OK, we don’t want to upset the plants, they’re clearly doing well just like they are…”

Harlow managed these words through her teeth, “So, as their gardener… and friend… how would you think they’d like someone like me… to cast a spell near them?”

“They need to trust you and magic can go awry even years later.”

She tossed her hands up in the air.

“And. How. Do. You. Suggest. I do that.”

The crowns of Harlow’s teeth clenched against each other.

Wait, what was that? Was that a little smirk right there? Maybe Harlow missed it, but it definitely was a quick upturn of the mouth. “Prove that you understand them.”

She walked briskly a few yards near the home to a potting table.

“How should I do that?”

Harlow was getting tired of leading this woman.

The woman returned with a small pot no bigger than a fist. She pressed her finger down in the soil and dropped in a seed, covered it back up, and handed it to Harlow.

“Make it bloom.”

Harlow began to raise her hand to cast a gardening spell. Simple enough.

“NO MAGIC.”

She dropped the hand. “No magic?”

“Yes, show the plant… and me that you can listen and pay attention. Show us that you don’t need magic to survive, to let things live.”

She placed her hands hastily on her hips.

“How long will that take”

Harlow curled her lip.

“As long as it takes.”

“And what about your wheel?”

“It’ll keep. Return to me when it blooms and I’ll let you cast your spells, whatever you need. But, if you use magic on it at any time, I’ll know.”

“And then?”

“You’ll be a failure.”

The woman said it in such a matter-of-fact way that it caught her off guard. With that the woman returned to her planting and settled back upon her knees, clearly dismissing her presence.

Harlow fought back from saying “Failure, hardly knew her”

as a reaction to the old woman’s extremely well aimed barb. Failure was something Harlow simply didn’t do. But acting a wizard far beyond her level was the hardest thing she’d had to do and the reality that failure was a bigger probability than success in this moment on this lawn with this godsawful pot of dirt was a reminder to buckle down and stay on task.

Halfway to the front, she paused and yelled back. “And what is this plant supposed to be?”

“A bleeding heart! I thought it rather fitting, considering.”

Harlow paused and was offended yet again. Smiley face on the paper indeed. That was a good call. She shifted the pot to one side and gingerly traced her way back. It was tough to fight the urge to avoid the stepping stones and stomp on the grass out of spite. However, what if by chance, it was a special type of grass that fought back? She thought the old lady didn’t think she could do it. So, that was the best way to handle her… prove that she could. It was time to call it a day and head back. She did the list… save the old woman… and that was that.

The town was settling for the evening, children returning to their homes and other businesses’ lights fluttering on as there was a shift from work hours to play hours. Even on the way out here, life still echoed life at the port.

Out in front of Buttons was Atlas, chatting up the shopkeeper, or was the shopkeeper chatting them up? It was hard to tell as they were both almost equally animated. When Harlow got close enough, Atlas waved her over. There goes any time to find the vault today.

“Ah, you’ve returned! How did it go?”

“Great except for Bethal. Seems she doesn’t trust me yet.”

“Mmm. And what’s that?”

Harlow raised it up for Atlas to spy inside the small pot. “A plant... well, a seed, actually.”

Atlas physically revolted back with clear disgust on their face.

Harlow raised her spare hand, palm out to them defensively. “I don’t really have a choice. She says I need to have this bloom before she’ll let me help her.”

“Hmm, typical Bethal… Well, do what you must.”

Atlas encouraged Harlow but glared back down at the ever-so-tiny pot and made the “watching you”

gesture to it, not her.

Saying their goodbyes, Harlow began the walk back before Atlas stopped her.

“We’ll just port back.”

“Wait, why didn’t we do that to begin with?”

“Because I needed the flowers to make a birthday crown for Sophia, of course.”

She needed a break. Just five minutes to herself. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, of course.”

Atlas began gesturing for the portal spell and then Harlow took a step back, causing Atlas to freeze.

“What?”

“If we take a portal back to the manor, while I’m holding the plant… will that count as using magic on the plant…”

Atlas tilted their head. “Well, it technically is cast on us both and whatever is upon us so it does stand to reason…”

“And even if not… it’d have trace magic on it, yes?”

“A very minuscule amount with an extended half-life, yes.”

Harlow looked down at her cupped hands and sighed. “Great. Just great.”

She started back down the road back to the manor herself, “I’ll meet you there then!”

Perhaps the walk would help cool her agitated mood. But perhaps not.

It took only a few kicked pebbles for her to realize that she wasn’t alone. Atlas trailed behind her at a leisurely pace, not having ported back and instead walking with her.

Perhaps the walk back wouldn’t be so bad. To be honest with herself, it was a long walk and one she would never care to take on her own, mood or not. And with that, their very presence seemed to soothe her rough edges and she found herself attempting to find a suitable name for her plant. That’s what people did, right, name plants?