The question was practical but it made her hesitate.They were alive.Moving around, clucking and peeping, but she was hungry.And they were made of...paper?Magic?Whatever the pun plants created.
She reached down and carefully scooped up one of the chicks.The moment she placed it in one of her gourd bowls, it went still.Inert.Just a small, nugget-shaped piece wrapped in paper."Oh," she said in wonder."That's...convenient, I guess."
She collected several more chicks, feeling only slightly guilty.The hen didn't seem distressed—she just kept pecking and clucking.
Inside, she unwrapped one of the paper coverings.Inside was exactly what it looked like: a chicken nugget.Actual meat, perfectly formed.She placed several in the oven to cook, remembering the burnt eggs.This time she watched carefully, checking every few minutes.
When they were done—golden and crispy—she pulled them out and let them cool.
Real chicken.They tasted like real chicken nuggets, perfectly seasoned.She ate standing at the counter, dipping them in butter since she had nothing else.It was strange and wonderful and absolutely absurd.
"The things in the woods enjoy chicken too," Walter said from his perch on the counter."You'll want to be careful about leaving the hen out after dark.Or perhaps build a coop."
Wren looked out the window at the hen still strutting around in the fading light."Right," she said."Another thing to figure out."
But for now, she was fed.Properly fed.And that was enough.
As she finished eating, she became aware of the sting in her palms again.And her calf—the scrape throbbed dully, a constant reminder of how close she'd come to being caught.She'd cleaned the wounds, but that didn't mean they were safe.Infection was a real risk.And her skin felt tight and dry from the soap and the day's stress.
She thought about what she might need.Lotion, definitely.Something for the cuts.Medicine?There had to be something.
She reached for her purse, sorting through the seeds with more focus now.
Beautybush.
The warmth felt soothing, cosmetic.She pulled it out and planted it inside near the counter.
The bush grew quickly, compact and manageable.And hanging from its branches like strange fruit were small jars and tubes.Cosmetics.She examined them one by one: face cream, lotion, lip balm, even what looked like rouge and powder.
She opened one of the lotion jars and sniffed.Light, floral, perfect.She smoothed some over her dry hands carefully, avoiding the scraped parts, then rubbed it into her arms and face.
Immediate relief.Her skin drank it in, but she still needed something for the actual wounds.
Heal-all.
The name came to her fingers before she even consciously thought it.The warmth felt medicinal, therapeutic.
She planted it next to the beautybush.
This one grew low and spreading, with purple-blue flowers.And among the blooms, small vials of clear liquid appeared, stoppered with cork.She plucked one and pulled the cork.The liquid inside smelled clean, slightly herbal.Antiseptic?Only one way to find out.She dabbed a small amount on one of her palm scrapes.
It stung for just a moment, then...warmth.Soothing warmth that spread through the wound.When she looked closer, the redness was already fading.The scrape looked cleaner, less angry.
"Well that's incredible," she breathed.She treated her other palm, then carefully applied it to her calf wound.Same result—the sting, then relief, then visible improvement.
Walter watched with interest."Healing herbs?Very valuable, those.You could make quite a profit."
She hadn't even thought of that.But he was right—if this stuff actually worked, people would pay well for it.
Another thing to bring to market.
The light outside was fading fast now, the golden afternoon turning to dusk.She was a little cold; the oven's heat was waning.She opened the oven door and found the sunflower seeds had stopped glowing—just dark, spent husks now.She cleared them out and grew a fresh sunflower, this time planting it so the head ended up close to the oven.She knew what to expect, and had enough time to use the stem to push the flower into the oven before it began to heat.It was much more efficient, and safer, too.The seeds began to glow almost immediately, amber light spilling out, warmth radiating into the room.
Now she knew how long a sunflower lasted, and as long as she saved the cooled seeds, she’d have an endless supply of heat.
Outside, full darkness had fallen.She could hear sounds from the woods—rustling, distant calls.Nothing close, but present.Reminding her of what lurked beyond her shield.
The hen had disappeared—back into the plant, maybe?Or hiding somewhere.The chicks too.She'd have to figure out the coop situation tomorrow.
