She set down her cup and went back outside.The two remaining dandelions watched her curiously as she knelt in the wet grass.
There.Among the torn stems and scattered fluff.Small seeds, dozens of them, clinging to the remains.She gathered them carefully.This brave creature who'd died protecting her—it could protect her again.Its offspring could.
She planted them immediately.
"Grow."
The first rose up, another hollowed-stem lion with a cloud of dandelion fluff.Golden eyes opened.It made that unique dandelion sound and immediately went to greet its siblings outside.
"Grow."
A second.Then a third.Then a fourth.
By the time she was done, she had six dandelions prowling her property.Six protectors instead of three.
Good breeding stock, that first one.Strong.Fierce.She hoped the new ones inherited that.
Walter watched from the doorway."That's better.Much better odds."
She nodded, looking at her small pride of plant-lions.They moved together, coordinating without sound.Two staying close to the treehouse, four ranging wider, checking the perimeter.
"What time is it?"she asked.
"Nearly ten, madam."
One hour.
She went back inside and forced herself to eat.Bread, butter, a purple egg that she watched very carefully as it baked.Drank tea.Checked her purse—empty except for seeds, ready to be filled with blue bulbs.
Adjusted the strap to cross-body, pulled it tight.Put on her boots, her velvet jacket.
Picked up her spearmint spear.
The two original dandelions—the survivors from last night—came to the door.The others gathered behind them.They knew.Somehow, they knew it was time.
"Ten—thirty," Walter announced quietly.
Thirty minutes.
She stood at the door, spear in hand, lions at her feet, and watched the grass beyond the shield.
It looked so peaceful in the late morning light.The fog had cleared.She could see the blue bulbs now—clusters of them glowing faintly among the green.
So close.So dangerous.
"Eleven o'clock, madam."
She took a breath.Opened the gate, and stepped through the failing shield.
