uhhh this is a seasonal

Spring. Spring should be the time for planting, for pulling everything together. For pulling the garden together, in particular. Sanna had set about doing what she could to arrange a healer’s garden around her own den. How strange it was, setting down roots somewhere. No like, literally, she was putting roots down. In the ground. That was what she was doing here, with the plants, trying to encourage them to put down roots in the fertile soil. She was trying, okay?

Be useful. She was fucking trying. It was a strange experience. She’d never been a part of anything quite like this. While it was a pack, everyone seemed so… distant. While some were clearly held together by bonds of blood, it seemed that there was disconnection too. She’d been hard pressed to actually bond with any of them. That was probably her own fault, as disconnected as she was. It was typical of her, at least. Cold, prickly demeanor. Distant at best. At worst? We should hesitate to use the phrase downright unfriendly but maybe it suits her.

It suits her. It suits her, as does the spring day that seems to have unfolded around her. Sanna wouldn’t be the first to admit it, but the weather had been pretty kind to them lately. Around her shoulders and across her back, she could feel the warmth where it settled and spread. Made for nice working conditions as she made to work the soil. Good, rich soil that she could break and turn up with her paws. Working through some of the roots that had penetrated the earth, but there weren’t too many big ones. She wouldn’t need to till it down that deeply, but Sanna needed enough depth to work with properly.

Lost in thought as she chips away at it, the girl is near oblivious to the world around her. All that exists here is her thoughts and her dirt. Turning up a patch of it that would be alright to plant was a laborious task, but if she was laboring, that meant she was contributing. That meant she was doing… something. Her gaze is still cold as it rests on the ground at her feet, but it doesn’t matter. She can be cold. There is no one here to stop her, and there is no one here to close the distance. That’s what she wants… right? That has to be what she wants. If Sanna wanted anything different, then she’d be trying to make a change.

Right?

In the same breath, in the same thought, she knows that’s a lie. Paws digging more fiercely, more solidly, into the earth beneath her. Sanna knows she’s lying to herself. All she can do is lie. All she can do to cope is lie to herself. That’s all. That’s the only thing. That’s the only thing she can do to find comfort here. To cope here. To cope with herself. Barely, she stifles the inward growl. The sound of her own discontent, the sound of her own thoughts. Why are they so loud? Why are they so loud, now of all times? If she means to keep them quiet, she only needs to work harder.

Taking a step back to assess her work, to peer at the garden bed, the girl hunches her shoulders. Narrows her eyes. It would be good enough, for now. It would be good enough for her. It would be good enough for now. Carefully, she begins to clean up the edges. Attention to detail. Pay attention to the details so she didn’t have to pay attention to the sour taste in her mouth, to the sick feeling in her chest. Pay attention to the little things. Do not look the big thing in the eye. Pretend the big thing is not all that big. Pretend she can’t feel it. Rely on the fact that she is incapable of feeling… right? Raised as a soldier to fight in petty wars. Raised to be devoid of feeling. Do not flinch. Do not look directly at it. Do not make eye contact with the hurt.

Fuck.

Sanna would ask why she’s like this, but she knows. Near obsessively, she straightens the edges of the garden plot. From here she’d fish rocks out of the rapids. All remotely the same size, all worn smooth by the flowing of the river. Long worn smooth. Rasping over them with a paw and thinking. The smoothness should be comforting. Why does she long to take a rock and throw it as hard as she can? Why does she want to throw it at herself, but from a distance? Sanna longs to harm herself, in third person. Why does she need to view herself as an enemy to survive? Though the woman of copper and moss knows why she’s the way she is, she hates it. It’s a deep, intense, sickening feeling. It’s the worst feeling. Yet here she is.

With the upmost care, Sana begins to lay the stones. They’re set just within the ground, and she buries the edges so none will rock or move. She sets them as a boundary to the garden bed, edging the entire thing. Intently, she works. Everything about Sanna’s gaze, her movements, all of it is intense. She is intense as she thinks, as she works, as she goes through the motions. Though there is a war raging inside her head, she will focus on work. Still, the woman longs to be set free. Maybe this is the path she needs to take to that freedom. All she can do is hope for it. Long for it. Ache for a freedom from a war that should have ended a long time ago.

Ache for freedom from the war that would eventually end her.

Setting the final stone into the corner of her new garden bed, Sanna took a step back. She appraised the plot. Took all of it in. Right, well, it wasn’t anything fancy but it would work for her purposes. She could see it from her den, and it would make for a good enough set up. If she’d need more space later, then she could expand it on either edge. A bit better than good enough, but certainly no master class. Utilitarian as ever, Sanna decided it would do.


"Speech"