Chapter 3/Part 2 ~ A Taste for Fashion

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Kabech hacked at the ground with hoe in hand, making a trench in the volcanic crust. It was a good spot, with two small geysers and a lava pit to warm the seedlings. Yam, the farmer, had taught her well, and while it was not the adventure she had expected, she was enjoying herself.

She inhaled a deep breath of musty night air. Time had taken a new meaning out here. No longer counted from meal to meal. Instead, her nights revolved around her vegetables and their need for devout care and attention. Tonight's tasks were to sew a new crop of lettuce and sing to the turnips. It would have Kabech's first market night too, but with her face in all the farmers' almanacs across Tyrunvern, she was reluctant to attend the event.

Once the turnips had been suitably serenaded, she headed home to handle the night's stew. Kabech tapped into the wall to fill a pot with shroom juice then sat it on the hovel's small stove. It began to splutter and bubble, signalling the time to add the vegetables. They carried on woefully, thrashing and crying as she dropped them into the pot then secure the lid to prevent their escape.

The carrots were putting up quite a fight, but Kabech could have kept them down if she had not been momentarily distracted by Yam's entrance. The carrots seized their chance immediately and escaped with a shower of hot juice. Sodden and boiled half to death, they worked Yam's crate of unsold veggies into a tizzy and had them all skittering about underfoot.

"I couldn't sell so much as a seedling. Word is, the noble folks in the palace have gone off their veg, and that's trouble for all of us," Yam sighed, upturned his empty crate and sat on it.

"Are they all dead?" Kabech asked, snatching up one of the carrots as it made a futile attempt to dash past her. She almost pitied the plant as it was boiled for a second time.

"Nobody knows," said Yam. "But there's word going around that some strange bird-folk have been seen with all sorts of unnatural things."

"I see." Kabech squinted pensively at a beautiful beet that was trying to hide inside a shroom's cup. She had never taken the time to admire the forms of their plants before, but that root showed potential as more than just wilted bits in a stew. "I might have an idea, but I shall have to smarten up my potato sack first."

Yam lifted his head with a frown at her burlap sack. "'Fraid that's the nicest sack I had, Kabby. Used to take my prize winning turnips to show in that one."

"Bring me your second nicest and some thread. I am in need of a new gown."

When her order was carried out, she fashioned herself a new dress that was so rustic it would give even the coarsest farmer a rash. It was bound to start a trend, but Kabech had another in mind. She took up Yam's empty crate, flipped it upright and marched out the door to gather some dirt and their prettiest vegetables. Her plan need not account for the ripeness of the bulbs, so she collected a few of the adorable little buds as well as luscious older sprouts.

"You will be accompanying me, I hope, as palace gardener," Kabech told Yam, sizing up his spud sack as he followed her. He would need trousers, certainly, but otherwise it should do. "If the aristocracy will not eat the local vegetables, I'll see to it that they decorate with them. Also, there will be such fuss about our sacks that they'll buy them all up and leave all their finery for the taking."

"Surely they'd know sacks are no good. I've never known a night without an itch."

"That is precisely why they will love them. In fashion, the greater the discomfort, the better," Kabech said and sat the crate outside. "I would ask for one more night in our shroom, though. I have grown terribly fond of life out here."

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