Then smile into the page. “Okay.”
And I do.
Over the next few days,a rhythm settles in.
I bring books, rotating topics depending on the vibe. Some science-heavy, others more poetic. I read aloud while he listens from the shade, sometimes stepping into view, sometimes just a presence in the leaves. His silence never feels impatient. Only watchful.
And one morning, after I ramble for ten straight minutes about nitrogen-fixing bacteria, I pause to catch my breath, cheeks warm.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble. “You probably already know all of this.”
Thorn’s voice answers from behind me, closer than usual. “Not this way.”
I glance over my shoulder. He’s standing just inside the arc of vines, half in sunlight, bark-lined arms crossed.
“You speak of soil like it’s alive.”
I blink. “Itis.”
“Show me.”
So I do.
I crouch near the lavender bed and explain how carbon and hydrogen get cycled through decay, how compost heat breaksdown proteins, how a teaspoon of good soil can hold more life than a city block.
His head tilts, runes dimming slightly as he processes.
He kneels beside me, brushing one hand along the dirt. “And if I willed this root,” he murmurs, “to twist and hold memory, would it change your findings?”
My breath catches. “You candothat?”
He answers by touching two fingers to the soil. A pale green vine uncoils, tracing a spiral before burrowing back down.
I gape. “Okay. That’s cheating.”
He huffs, just short of a laugh.
“Teach me,” I whisper.
And he does.
In exchange for my talk of pH levels and carbon ratios, Thorn shows me spells whispered in a tongue no human wrote down. Vines that dance to rhythm. Bark that remembers emotion. Seeds that only bloom when touched with joy.
It’s not a trade.
It’s a conversation.
A communion.
And every day, it feels more like we’re speaking the same language—just using different tools.
The next timeI see him, I bring peanut butter cookies in a napkin, mostly as a joke.
“You probably don’t eat,” I tell him, setting the napkin on a mossy rock. “But if you ever want to smell like a Girl Scout meeting, this is the way.”
He stares at the cookie like it might recite an incantation.
I burst out laughing.
