She stripped off the velvet and silk, wincing as she peeled the nightgown away from her scraped calf.The wound had scabbed over but it still throbbed.
The bathwater was perfect—not hot, but warm enough to ease the ache in her muscles.She sank into it with a grateful sigh.
The soap from the soapberry tree lathered beautifully, smelling of strawberries and jasmine.She scrubbed away the dirt and blood, the grime from her desperate run through the rain, the craziness of the last twelve hours.
Her hands stung where the soap touched her scraped palms, but she cleaned them thoroughly anyway.The calf wound too, as gently as she could manage.The loofah sponge petals worked perfectly—soft enough not to hurt, textured enough to actually clean.
When she finally climbed out, she felt almost human again.
She dried off with one of the pillow cases—not ideal, but functional—and dressed in fresh silk undergarments and a different velvet outfit.Deep blue skirt this time, with a burgundy jacket.The colors shouldn't have worked together but somehow they did.
Her muddy clothes went into the bathwater for a quick wash.The silk nightgown, the green skirt and jacket, all of it surprisingly dirty from the morning's work.She scrubbed them as best she could, wrung them out, then looked around for somewhere to hang them.
The rocking chair would have to do for now.She exited the bathroom and noticed an indoor clothesline, complete with wooden pins, strung across the room.She stared, then looked at Walter.
“It seems the tree is eager to help, Madam,” Walter observed.
She shook her head and draped the wet clothes over the line, securing them with pins.The clothes dripped, but the oven’s warmth would help dry them.
Walter had moved to the tree stump side table and was grooming his whiskers."Feeling better, madam?"
"Much."She glanced at the windows.The light had changed—golden now, slanting.Late afternoon already."I can't believe how much time has passed."
"Growing takes energy," Walter said matter-of-factually."Magical growth even more so.You'll be tired tonight, I expect."
He was probably right.She could already feel exhaustion creeping in at the edges.But there was still more to do.She looked at her organized harvest, at her house that was starting to feel livable and thought about the shield wall with its worrying red crack.
Tomorrow she'd have to face the grass and the monsters and the blue bulbs.
Tonight, she needed dinner.Her stomach was already growling again.Tea and bread and butter had been nice, but she needed real food.Protein.
She reached into her purse, sorting through seeds, looking for anything that might provide meat.
Hen and chicks.
The warmth that came with it felt...alive.Different from the other seeds.More animated.
Curious, she took it outside.The light was turning golden, the air cooling.She planted it a safe distance from the treehouse.
"Grow."
The plant rose up, but it was strange—less like a typical plant and more like...paper?The leaves unfolded and separated, and suddenly there was movement.
A hen.
An actualhen, about the size of a real chicken, with plumage made of layered paper.It clucked—actually clucked—and started pecking at the ground.
Around it, smaller shapes scurried.Chicks.Tiny things with delicate paper feathers, peeping and following the hen.Wren stared.They looked like...chicken nuggets.With legs.
"You've got to be joking," she said, but she was already laughing.
The hen strutted around, completely unbothered.The chicks—there were maybe a dozen of them—tumbled over each other, their little legs moving frantically.
Walter appeared at her elbow."Oh my.Those are remarkable."
"They're alive," Wren said, still processing."The hen and chicks plant made actual living chickens."
"Paper chickens," Walter corrected."But yes, quite animate.Will you be eating them?"
