A young girl stood awestruck in the merchant row, a bustling street in the old village where caravans gathered to sell their wares. She had charming auburn hair cropped to her neck, and her wide amber eyes shone with wonder as she gazed at the caravans that were turned into makeshift stalls. Her attention was fixed on a simple white dress adorned with delicate embroidery—a pattern of roses, just like her namesake. Five small roses decorated the bottom left of the dress, climbing gently upward. Though subtle, the design captivated her with its charm.

“And it’s cheap too!” the merchant chimed in. “Some noble girl was practicing the design for her daughter and just tossed it aside. A maid picked it up and fashioned it into a dress! There wasn’t enough fabric for anything larger, but that’s your luck little one, it would fit you quite well. The price is only 12 Étains!”

“12 Étains?” Rose repeated, thinking about the coins. Étain was the dull, small ones, mostly silver but covered in some coarse red stuff. Daddy had plenty of those, but… to use 12 of them? Rose tilted her head, concentrating hard. She looked down at her hands, counting her fingers—one, two, three, four, five… all the way up to ten. But there weren’t twelve fingers. “Twelve…” she muttered, a determined frown creasing her face as she tried to figure it out.

It was more than a bushel—more than her pillarly allowance. Her parents let her spend ten coins each pillar, but… how much more was twelve? She rarely used her allowance, so maybe they’d let her borrow a little extra this time. Iris always managed to get more out of them, so why couldn’t she?

The merchant chuckled good-naturedly. “Can’t quite get to twelve, can you?” he asked, amused.

Rose’s brows furrowed. “I can!” she insisted, looking back down at her fingers. “One, two… thwee…” She counted up to ten again, but still couldn’t reach twelve. Frustration crept in as she stood there, glancing between her hands and the dress.

Eventually, the merchant took pity on her. “Alright, how many fingers do you have?” he asked gently, kneeling down to her level with a soft smile.

Rose looked down at her hands, concentration scrunching up her little nose. “One, two…” she began counting again, her fingers wiggling with each number. The merchant chuckled as she went through each finger with fresh enthusiasm.

“Ten!” she announced proudly, spreading her fingers out and beaming.

“That’s right,” he replied with a grin. “Now, can you remember that ten?”

“Yes! Ten is ten!” she said confidently, bouncing on her heels, clearly pleased with herself.

“Very good. Now, can you imagine taking ten away from twelve?” he asked, watching her carefully.

“Twelve…” she echoed, her gaze falling back to her hands. “Twelve…” The frown was back, her brows furrowing with the effort to imagine something beyond her fingers.

“Can you count all the way up to twenty?” he asked, trying to help her along.

“Twenty? No, we only need to know that one bushel is ten!” Rose replied, a big smile on her round face.

The merchant stifled a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand. She was so determined, and he didn't want her to think he was making fun of her adorable little attitude.. “I see. So, you’ve never heard of twelve before?”

Rose tapped her chin thoughtfully, her little face scrunched in concentration. “Ation says twelve and something else… eleven?” she added, remembering a word she’d heard from her brother. “And he puts ‘teen’ after lots of numbers a lot too!”

“Ah, clever,” the merchant said, nodding encouragingly. “Well, ‘teen’ usually means there’s already a bushel, or ten. So fifteen means one bushel plus five. It’s the same for twenty and thirty. Twenty-five, for example, means two bushels—or two tens—and another five. Understand?”

Rose blinked up at him, her amber eyes twinkling with curiosity. “So… ‘teen’ means a bushel, and ‘twone’ means two bushels…” She glanced down at her fingers, then back up at him with a spark of realization. “But what about twelve?”

The merchant nodded, smiling warmly. “Ah, twelve and eleven are a little special. Twelve is sort of like… ‘twoteen,’ and eleven is like ‘oneteen.’ Why they’re different? Well…” He shrugged with a grin. “I’m not really sure.”

“Then why not just say oneteen and twoteen?” Rose asked, frowning slightly as she tried to puzzle it out.

The merchant chuckled. “Because we didn’t create the language of Fleural. It was made by some very old nobles, a long time ago.”

Rose tilted her head, the new word catching her attention. “Fleural?” she repeated, sounding it out, her tiny tongue tripping on the syllables.

“Yes, that’s the name of the language we’re speaking. It’s the language of our country. Do you know what your country is called?” he asked gently, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Sayotheo!” she replied confidently, beaming.

He laughed. “Sayotheo is the name of this village,” he explained. “It’s not the name of the kingdom that Sayotheo belongs to.”

“It’s not?” Rose asked, her brow knitting in confusion.

“No,” he continued patiently. “Your village, Sayotheo, is part of the Graiénelle Kingdom. And the kingdom is-” he smiled, chuckling as he continued. “94 bushels old, plus another eight. Can you count that high?”

Little Rose blinked, cocking her head as she tried to wrap her mind around it. “Ninety-four bushels… that’s…” She looked down at her hands, her eyes widening as the numbers swelled in her mind. “That’s a lot of bushels!” she cried out.

The merchant laughed heartily. “That’s right! Tell you what, little girl—bring me a bushel of tin coins, and the dress is yours. Fair deal?”

Rose’s eyes lit up, excitement shining in her gaze. “Yeah!” she nodded, her voice full of determination. “Ah, I’ll… I’ll be back soon!” she promised, then darted off with eager strides. She needed ten coins. If her math was right—and she was pretty sure it was—that should just about cover her allowance. But… what if it wasn’t enough?

She paused, her eyes drifting toward the village border, where the grand forest loomed just beyond. Daddy had taken her there a few times, but she’d always been told never to go alone. Still, there was a plant that could fetch a whole coin per bushel…

They were hard to find, but Rose was good at spotting things. She just needed ten bushels of the right plant, and she’d be rich enough to buy the dress on her own. Ten tens. She glanced around; no one was close enough to tell her what she should do…

“It’ll be quick…” she whispered to herself after some thought. “Shouldn't be a problem.”

When Rose arrived at the forest’s edge, her steps faltered. The trees towered above her, stretching endlessly toward the sky, their leaves tangled and shadowed like a giant’s fingertips pressing against the clouds. Light filtered through in uneven patches, casting strange shadows that danced and shifted on the ground, turning them into living things hiding secrets of a dark and sinister nature.

She shivered, glancing back toward the village. It was safe there, with its neat huts and tidy paths. Her parents might even give her the money if she asked… right? Ten coins were a lot, though—a whole pillar’s worth of saving. A long time, she thought, and they said no before…

She took a deep breath and steadied herself, taking one step, then another. Each step was easier than the next and soon enough she forgot the fear she felt earlier. Vanishing like morning mist as her eyes scanned the ground.

She searched for a familiar bush, one with small white flowers and leaves edged with tiny, tilted saw teeth. It was extremely different from others that looked just like it. She’d seen it many times before on walks with her father. They would look for it together—they were important, for some reason. And not because it could be sold for a coin if you picked it but because chewing it made your stomach hurt less. It was these pain away plants that she needed and luckily it wasn’t long before she found her first plant—a small bush with seven delicate white flowers.

She counted them on her hand, one was spread out with all five fingers and two on the other. On the right there was one left when she figured out halves and two on the other. Pushing the one finger there were three fingers. That ment she can take three of the fingers from the bush. Otherwise the gods would be mad at them. At her, and her father made it very clear you do not want to make the gods mad.

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Rose knelt down, carefully pulling the small, delicate flowers from the base where the stem rose from its bushy roots, it came out easily with a pinch and a gentle twist, allowing her to collect each one in her small hands. With that she had three Racinsain flowers. Just seven more, and she’d have one full bushel—One Étains. Her heart swelled, it was easy! She looked over the forest edge and still saw the traces of her village just beyond the trees. She continued her hunt.

Rose didn’t know how much time had passed, only that her hands were now filled with forty-one delicate Racinsain flowers, stalks and all. The forest around her was hushed and still, with only the occasional rustle of leaves to break the silence. Every now and then, a bunny or bird darted through her vision, their quick, soft movements a delight that made her pause to watch them in their world. Yet there was one sound—a low, distinct rustle—that pricked at her senses, drawing her attention with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

Looking up, Rose found herself locking eyes with a small creature nestled between the branches, watching her just as intently. For a heartbeat, they both froze—a little girl and a young fox, each staring with wide eyes. Rose’s fingers tightened around her bouquet of flowers, her breath held as she took in the fox’s delicate, watchful face. She didn’t realize she was simply looking at a kit playing nearby, nor did he register her as any different then those big burrowing hunters from that same village. So, they sat there, suspended in time, two young souls staring deeply into each other’s eyes.

A soft rustle broke the spell, and the fox’s mother appeared, her gaze assessing Rose before nudging her little one protectively. The kit shook himself from the trance, looking back at Rose once before following his mother into the undergrowth, leaving Rose standing there, her heart still racing.

Rose glanced around, suddenly aware of the looming shadows and realizing with a jolt that she wasn’t quite sure where she was. The towering trees suddenly seemed to cage her inside the forest, leaving her no way to eye her home. She trembled, afraid but managed to steadied herself enough to recall the path she’d taken.

Turning, she began to retrace her steps, heading toward the berry bush that looked kind of like a rabbit, then to the tree root that curled just so, causing her to mistake it for an owl. She followed these familiar markers, sights she’d only noticed in passing as she played around. Before long, she spotted it: the familiar tree that the village used to mark the forest’s edge. It was an old tree that they would never cut down, allowing it to tower over the small regrowth like a beacon.

The moment she saw the village, she broke into a run, her breath coming faster but feeling lighter with each step toward home. She dashed forward without thinking and only stopped when she was surrounded by familiar people, in a familiar place feeling the village’s familiar warmth. After some time to collect herself she found that she was in the marketplace, her excitement and relief growing as she scanned the stalls.

Her eyes landed on Jasmine, her mother’s friend, a large woman known for her hearty laughter and the ever-present snack in her hand as she waited for customers. Jasmine’s round face lit up when she spotted Rose.

“Hello, little Rose!” Jasmine greeted her warmly. “What brings you here today?”

Rose placed her collection of herbs proudly on the counter. “I want to exchange, please!” she chirped, her voice bubbling with excitement.

“Oh, your mother sent you ahead, did she?” Jasmine asked with a knowing smile.

“No!” Rose said, beaming. “I found them all by myself!”

“You picked them yourself?” Jasmine asked, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“Yes!” Rose nodded enthusiastically, clutching her flowers tightly.

“Did you now?” Jasmine’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Must be something special you’re saving up for, huh? Something important?”

Rose’s eyes lit up, and she nodded again. “Yes! How did you know?” she asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

Jasmine laughed, reaching out to gently ruffle Rose’s hair. “Well, why else would you risk your mother’s ire, hmm?”

Rose paused, tilting her head. “Ire?” she echoed, unfamiliar with the word.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jasmine waved it off with a chuckle, glancing down at the flowers in her hands. “Hmm, you’ve collected quite a bit here. I’ll give you three Étains for them.”

“Three?” Rose blinked in surprise. She looked over her bounty again, her fingers moving rapidly as she counted again. “But there are four bushels.”

“True,” Jasmine admitted with a shrug, “but prices change.”

“They do?” Rose’s face scrunched up in confusion.

“Unfortunately, they do,” Jasmine replied, a gentle smile on her face. “But three Étains is still pretty good—and that’s me being kind.”

“Oh… thank you!” Rose replied, her disappointment fading into gratitude. She eagerly accepted the three coins Jasmine held out, cupping them carefully in both hands. “Thanks!” And with that, she spun around and dashed off, not even noticing Jasmine’s parting words of, “Tell your mother I said hello!”

Her excitement carried her all the way home, where she finally stopped in front of her door, catching her breath. Without waiting, she burst through, calling, “Mommy!”

She found her mother in the kitchen, busy chopping vegetables for dinner. Camellia jumped, nearly dropping the knife as she spun around, her eyes widening as she saw her daughter’s gleeful expression. “Gods above, Rosie! How many times have I told you not to burst through the door like that!”

Rose barely seemed to hear, her face glowing as she ran up to her mother, holding out her hands to show off her hard-earned coins. “Mom, look what I got!”

Camellia’s eyes narrowed slightly as she took in the sight of the coins. “Where on earth did you get that?”

“There’s a man in the market selling a dress,” Rose explained eagerly, her words tumbling out in a rush. “He said it was stitched by… um, someone practicing embroidery. The fabric was leftover, so she gave it to a maid, who made it into a dress. It was 12 coins, but he took off two, so now it’s only ten, Mommy! I have three, but I still need…” She looked down at her hands, carefully counting the coins. “Two and five is… seven? Yeah, seven coins, Mommy! I need seven more. And I was thinking… since Daddy said we can spend ten coins a month, maybe I can borrow seven now to get the dress?”

Her mother’s expression shifted, her brows drawing together as she placed a hand on her hip. “What dress, Rose? You were supposed to be with Iris at the Kemila House! Don’t tell me you snuck off again!”

Rose winced but tried to stand her ground. “But it’s boring, Mom! Iris and Agana just keep talking about their Épanflor de Vie. They’re not even ten years old yet!”

Camellia’s expression softened a bit, though she still held her gaze sternly on her daughter. “Honey, that’s because Margett and Calla just had their ceremony. Honestly, I’m surprised you’re not talking about it with them. Aren’t you excited for your special day? It only happens once in a lifetime.”

“Nope,” Rose replied without a hint of hesitation. “Anyway, I just need seven more coins for the dress.”

Camellia sighed, shaking her head with a half-smile at her daughter’s determination. “And where did you get the coins you have now?”

“Sold some pain away I picked today.”

“Pain away—Racinsain?” Camellia’s eyes widened slightly. “Where did you find Racinsain?”

Rose shifted, looking away. “Anyway, the merchant’s leaving tomorrow,” she muttered, trying to change the subject, but her mother wasn’t having it.

“Rosie,” Camellia said, her tone firm, “did you go into the forest?”

Rose glanced at her mother and quickly looked away. “Only a little,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Camellia’s eyes narrowed. “How many times have we told you never to enter that forest alone?”

“But Daddy takes us all the time!” Rose argued, crossing her arms defensively.

“With him!” Camellia’s voice rose, her frustration boiling over. “Rose des Sayotheo, you go straight to your room, young lady. I’ll deal with you later!”

“But what about the dress?” Rose protested, her voice turning pleading.

“Don’t you worry about something so silly,” Camellia shot back. “You went into the woods alone, and that’s far more serious. There will be no dress!”

“But, Mom—” Rose tried one last time, but her mother’s expression silenced her.

“Up to your room!” Camellia clapped her hands together, the sharp sound snapping through the room, and Rose scrambled toward the stairs, the sting of her mother’s words echoing in her ears.

Once alone in her room, Rose fumed, scowling as she shut the door behind her. “It’s not fair!” she muttered under her breath, her quiet yell was as loud as she dared. Her mother had good hearing after all. She stomped over to her bed, flopping down and burying her face in a bundle of distressed hay wrapped in thick linen, her pillow. As the disappointment weighed on her, she drifted into a restless sleep, still hugging the pillow tightly.

A soft thud jolted her awake. She blinked, disoriented, just in time to see another pillow bounce beside her.

“You got me in trouble!” her sister Iris hissed from the doorway, glaring at her.

Rose sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What?”

“You told Mom you left Agana’s house!” Iris accused, hands on her hips. “She said I let you go off into the woods on your own!”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” Rose’s shoulders slumped, realizing she’d dragged her sister into the mess.

Iris huffed, crossing her arms. “You should be!” she whispered harshly, then tutted, sighing as she rolled her eyes. “Just don’t do it again! Anyway, Mom says dinner is ready.” With that, Iris turned and left, while Rose scrambled to follow her.

In the kitchen, Camellia had set the food neatly on the table. As everyone took their seats, she led them in prayer.

“May the Lords above our lives preserve,

Lest trials lead us down below.

Grant us strength in every meal,

That we may honor, love, and grow.

With thanks, we gather here today;

In faith, we rise along the way.”

Then she continued, moving on from the formal prayer. “Let us also give thanks to the seven for allowing our youngest to return from the forest unharmed. And may we find strength to remind her of the forest’s dangers, lest she venture alone again.” She opened her eyes, directing a pointed look at her husband, Rowan. “And let’s also remember that, as a family, we each have responsibilities. Such as not rewarding such behavior.”

Rowan clicked his tongue, glancing back at her with a reluctant smile. “What do you want me to say, Camellia? They’re leaving tomorrow.”

Her eyes narrowed. “We will not be rewarding this behavior,” she repeated firmly.

“We’re not. But… okay, okay. We’ll talk about it later,” he conceded, his tone resigned.

They began to eat in silence, the children blissfully unaware of the exchange and its meaning, while the adults continued their unspoken argument.