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People who understood when to feed something. When to harvest it. When to let it grow.
And when to cut it the fuck down.
I reach toward the fruit.
The seed drops into my palm.
The land waits.
No demand.
No command.
Just patience.
Choice.
I smile. “Not tonight.”
My fingers close around the seed.
The roots begin to settle.
Then one doesn’t.
I feel it immediately.
A single thread stretching farther than the others.
Miles away.
Farther.
Farther.
Until it reaches something.
I suck in a breath.
The connection snaps tight.
Malakai’s head jerks up.
He felt it too.
“What the fuck was that?” Rhett asks.
Malakai doesn’t answer.
Neither do I.
Because somewhere far beyond this property, something moves beneath the earth.
Not here.
Somewhere else.
Rows.
