burn in the afterthought

can't smell the roses

Helping the thicket heal was an all hands on deck operation. Now that her injuries from the fire had healed, Theory had been assisting with hauling seed and soil between her other duties. Lessons had come to a halt for now in light of the disaster, and she was sorely missing her diplomat training. Since the fire and Tana's death, her life felt like it had been completely derailed. Autumn was turning the leaves, though, reminding her that time passed whether she was ready or not. Soon it would be winter and she would be a year old.

She huffed softly as she spread the last of the seed she'd managed to bring by piling it on a large lilypad. Theory took a step back and surveyed her work, still a bit dusty from working in the soil. She gave her coat a thorough shake, sneezed, and turned to continue spreading it evenly on the still-bare patches of ground. There were some tender shoots of new growth, but she was certain they wouldn't survive the first frost. This autumn was bitterly cold. What was the point of the planting if it would all die anyway?

when they wilt in my hands