Old Roots

After his time with Jane Emile had made a mental note to go back to collect lavender to try and replant some in his small window garden but time seemed to slip by him it was only now that he was even trying to do so. An old withered sprig of Marigold was removed from its pot and Emile had donned his bag and returned to the field. It was a method he was more than used to now. It was simple really, mark out the area around the plant and where he suspected its roots were, giving the plant probably more room than he actually needed but better safe than sorry. Lavender was a useful plant to have around, not only were it's uses wildly applicable... Frankly, Emile hoped it would help him. With his father gone he felt more isolated than ever, sure he had Jane if he needed he still wasn't able to get over the wall he felt had risen up between himself and his other siblings, the garden was really the only reason he had to get up and do things. The little flowers growing at his window was the only life that needed him... And it did need him. So he'd remain if only for them, for the little floral lives that would wither without his care. But Lavender was meant to be calming and he hoped it would... Help.

Emile focused himself back on his work, gently finishing the circle he wanted to draw in the dirt. Then he slowly began to dig outside the circle, removing earth around the plant, it was slow, delicate work, aided mostly by the fact that he had transplanted a few plants now. His movements were a bit more confident than his usual demeanor and his movements were smooth. Not that he expected anyone to even see or notice him, as was usual he'd made sure he was alone when he'd made his trip out of the pack lands, he would take his time while out by himself, the only time he was really given a chance to breathe. He was almost tender in his demeanor, he would gently brush the flower when he needed to move it to continue digging down closer to its stem and he seemed to watch carefully where his paws went when he moved around the plant he was planning to transpose, not wanting to crush any of the other clusters of flowers that grew around his current choice.

Finally, Emile would have his plant, he'd dug around the roots of the flower and so while he had the plant itself there was still a substantial chunk of earth connected to its roots, in a vague cone shape with the tip pointed towards the ground. He gently slid the open pouch of his bag towards the flower and set about very carefully lifting and shifting the plant so that it was safely tucked away in his bag, the petals turned towards the skies. Then the slow and careful return to the castle. He was careful not to jostle the bag slung across his back. His movements becoming only more careful as he drew back into pack lands, doing his best to avoid as many wolves as he could, head ducked to angle his scarred eye out of view as best as he could. He moved as quickly as he dared towards his room, forcing his mind to remain on the task at hand to keep himself from breaking into hysterics.

Emile arrived at his own room and gently set the bag down against a wall to keep it upright, under the window with his other small pots. He had a small pile of fresh dirt and began to partially fill the pot with dirt, before it was even half full he carefully, gently, moved the lavender sprig to the pot, then continued to fill what space was left with the leftover dirt. A small bowl of water was poured over the newly transplanted flower and Emile gently packed the earth with his paws, mud coating his toes as he make sure the dirt would keep the dirt from separating, like a new graft you had to try and help the new earth to accept the old.

Finally, the young man would gently place the pot back up on the sill and settled himself back down on his haunches with a huff, his tongue unfurling from his open jaw. It wasn't a particularly hard work but delicate work took it's own toll if not physically than mentally. In fact the young man had been so focused on the task as hand he'd failed to notice he'd forgotten to close his door, leaving a clear view into his room for anyone who walked by, the first time in a long time his door was open while he was in his room, even if this was not by choice.

WC: 824

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