Taking Root (Stardew Valley - Shane)

Chapter Three

Just a little creep further forward, and I'd be in the right position. Blades of grass pressed into the corners of my face, tickling the underside of my chin and coating my cheeks in fresh, morning dew. The left elbow of my mottled-grey hooded jacket made contact with the murky water beneath it, sending the smallest of ripples outwards around my outstretched arm. I lay on my front, the upper half of my body precariously balanced over the Cindersap Lake with a glass jar in hand. My legs stretched out behind me on the wooden pier, the toes of my boots pressed as hard as possible into the cracks of the rain-sodden planks to steady myself. Just another slight shuffle, and I'd reach them.

I first saw them several days ago, on the walk back to grandpa's land from my initial venture into town. Frogs. Small, round, joyful fellows, emerging from the marshland one hop at a time as they felt the darkness of the evening paint the ground around them. I had creeped past at a slow and steady pace, watching them dart in and out of the large body of water that was lit only by passing fireflies and the rippling reflection of the moon.

You see, I love frogs. I pledge my undying allegiance to amphibian-kind, and would gladly sacrifice my life to save just one of the friend-shaped beasts. It would be for the greater good.

And this morning, equipped with a large, glass mason jar and the determination of David Attenborough in the 1980s, I would borrow just a little tinsy bit of their overflowing hoards of frogspawn to populate the scarce pond back on the farm. It was an ingenious idea, really. All I had to do now, was figure out how I could somehow stretch my short body far enough out over the water to reach the strange frog eggs that lay in a misshapen dollop inches away from me.

There was a faint creak to my left. I diverted my gaze from the frogspawn to the quaint house that sat in the distance, a person emerging from the red-painted door and forcefully opening the gates out front with a heavy push. I watched them as they guided a few farm animals out into the enclosed pasture - young calves, a sheep, a tiny goat. They let out a deep yawn and ran a large hand over their head, through the mess of thick hair, and tilted their neck to look up at the dark, looming clouds above. Large raindrops hit the surface of the person's rough skin and faded clothing, but it didn't seem to phase them in the slightest.

It was him. I didn't know his name; so he would currently reside in my mind as Rude Angry Man, Who Didn't Like Me Talking to Him. Hm, quite descriptive, but maybe that is a bit of a mouthful. R.A.M.W.D.L.M.T.H. for short? No, Sophie, still too long. I'll just go with Angry Man.

I felt my left foot slip from it's strenuous grip of the damp, wooden pier beneath me, making a sharp noise as I attempted to steady myself. Angry Man's attention broke from his daydream-like state, and he gazed over in my direction. His eyes traced over my comically-positioned body, and with a look of confusion-turned-disgust, he folded his arms across his chest. I froze, motionless, sprawled out like a wet rat as the rain pelted my skin. The glass jar slipped from my grip, hitting the lake with an embarrassing splash. All I could do was watch on as Angry Man chuckled to himself, turned away, and headed into the direction of the town centre.

Great. 2-0 to Angry Man, I guess. I didn't care. It's not like I would lie awake every night for the next three days painstakingly replaying the encounter in my mind as if it were an old horror film stuck on replay. Because that's like, totally not what I do every time something embarrassing happens to me. Obviously.

Maybe it was a good thing that the majority of my days were occupied within the confines of grandpa's farm, where I busied myself with hauling log-piles, clearing hidden paths, and chipping away at the old corroding rocks that stood like barriers between myself and the fertile land below. The more time I spent tangled up in the endless web of work was less time embarrassing myself in front of the people who I would soon consider my neighbours. It had, however, already started to dig at me - the loneliness. I was far from a recluse, an outsider, somebody who could stay forever in their own company without driving themselves to insanity. I loved people and connections. I loved dancing with others, laughing at inside jokes, giving big hugs, and listening to shared stories. But out here, miles away from all of the people I had ever known, I remembered what it was like to start entirely anew. It was definitely a challenge for me, but one that I knew I could face. I couldn't admit it to myself in fear of disappointment - but I had a hope, that in the future, I would be settled in here. It would be my home.

The sun had finally began to set, and I had just finished painting a window-frame when I saw Marnie for the second time. I could tell it was her even when she approached from a distance - shuffling her way through the tall grass before finding the brushed-dirt path to the cabin front door.

"Sophie! Hello!" She greeted as she caught her breath, placing a hand on my mailbox so that she could shift her weight from one foot to the other.
"Hi!" I responded, matching her cheerful expression. "Let me get you a glass of water."
"Oh, that would be nice, thank you. I was just passing by quite close to your farm," She started, as if her journey hadn't been purposeful or important. "And I thought I should warn you about the weather tonight."
I smiled and nodded my head as I dipped into my home, searching around the mess to find a glass. "Yeah, its been raining all day, hasn't it? I've patched up some of the cabin as best as I can for now, so the water shouldn't be too much of a problem."

Marnie raised an eyebrow and let her gaze wander over the wooden building I had just entered. "Well, it wasn't your cabin I was worried about, really. I heard Lewis say it would be a stormy one tonight, and it isn't a rare sight to see trees struck down in the valley, you know."
"Thanks for letting me know, Marnie." I replied, and handed her the cool drink. "The farm should be okay. I really don't have much that a storm could damage, and I don't mind if it wants to strike down a few of these trees."
I watched as Marnie's smile returned once more, intermittently between sips of water. "I just thought it best to warn you. Better safe than sorry!"
"Thank you."
"Oh, Sophie, are you growing potatoes by any chance?" She enquired, switching the topic with ease.
"Yeah, I'm trying to at least." I folded my arms across my chest and glanced over towards the planters. "Why, would you like some?"
"I haven't cooked with some fresh, farm-grown vegetables in a while! I'd love to have you over for dinner, and maybe you could bring the potatoes and I could show you an easy but delicious recipe-"
I reached out to hold her forearm in a soft grip. "I'd love to! It may be a few days before I can harvest them, though."
"That sounds fine!" Marnie had a beaming grin now, her cheeks rosier than ever and the glass in her hand almost empty. "Let me know, and you could come over sometime this next week."

Well, maybe I wasn't on speaking terms with anybody even remotely close to my age. And maybe I would still spend the coming weeks sharing my secrets and innermost thoughts only with the worms and snails that kept me company under the shade of the woodland trees. But at least one person in this valley liked me enough to dare eat my potatoes.