"Oh," Wren said faintly."They're...fragile."
"Very fragile, madam," Walter observed."Perhaps not ideal for defense."
"Perhaps not."She tried not to feel too disappointed.Maybe something else would work better.
Dogwood.
Dogs were loyal.Protective.Guard dogs made of wood would be perfect!She planted it in the same spot.
"Grow."
The tree rose up, branches spreading, and from those branches, wooden dogs began to form.Beautiful carved dogs in various breeds—a mastiff, a shepherd, a hound.They dropped from the tree, landed on their paws, and immediately started barking.Loud, enthusiastic, constant barking.
"Oh!Hello!Good dogs!It's okay—"
They didn't stop.
They barked at her.At Walter.At the trees.At the sky.At absolutely nothing.
The noise was incredible.Echoing across her property, probably audible in town."STOP!"Wren shouted.
They kept barking.
She tried everything—commanded them to be quiet, offered them food (they had no proper mouths, just carved snouts that opened and closed with each bark), and tried to lead them away.Nothing worked.
After ten minutes of unrelenting wooden barking, Wren gave up and uprooted the tree.The dogs dissolved immediately, thank God, and blissful silence returned.She stood there, slightly deaf, and looked at the empty spot where her defensive plants had failed spectacularly.
"So," Walter said delicately."Perhaps combat isn't your strength?"
"Perhaps not," Wren admitted.
She looked at her kitchen garden, her trade goods section, her beautiful pond.All thriving.All perfect.
"I'm good at food and practical things...and pretty things."She nodded slowly."I should stick to what works."
"A wise decision, madam."
"The dandelions can handle defense.And if I need more protection, I'll..."She paused."I'll figure something out.Trade for it.Hire guards.Something."
She didn't need to be good at everything.She just needed to be smart about what shewasgood at.
And apparently, that was everything except combat.
––––––––
AT EXACTLY TWO O'CLOCK, the dandelions returned.
She went out to meet them, relief flooding through her.Two dandelions stood there, hollow bodies stuffed with glowing blue bulbs.She thought they were just getting food for themselves, but they took it upon themselves to stock the shield wall with extra bulbs.Their golden eyes were bright, alert.
Only two.
"Where's the third?"she asked, even though she knew they couldn't answer.
The larger one—her original survivor, still bearing scars from the first night—made a low sound.Mournful, almost.
The other one had fresh gouges along its flank.Deep cuts that leaked clear sap.They'd fought.And one hadn't made it back.
"I'm sorry," Wren said quietly.She helped them unload the bulbs."Thank you.You did well."They were plants.Just plants.Useful, loyal, effective plants that she could grow more of, but still.One had been destroyed protecting her interests.
