“It’s okay if you didn’t win, Matt. You don’t have to make up an elaborate excuse for us,” Clay said, “We know you did your best.”

I paused in the middle of shoveling dirt and leaned on the shovel as its blade sank into the rich, loamy soil beneath me. It was the day after the race, and I’d completed all my farm chores for the day except for one: turning the fields. Lucky for me, I wasn’t alone in the chore—my sprite companions were here to keep me company as I worked. Though they never offered any actual help with the hard work, they were always more than happy to offer a slight ribbing, if only to keep me humble. “I didn’t lose. The race got interrupted.”

The sprites exchanged skeptical, side-eyed glances.

“Interrupted by what, exactly?” Flint asked.

I glanced over at the three of them—Flint, Holly, and Clay—who had been “helping” me all morning, likely to dodge any requests to watch Lucy. Despite how much they adored her, even the sprites needed a break from her endless energy.

I turned my attention back to the soil in front of me, the field that needed turning before it could be sown again. The dirt was heavy and dark, still harboring the morning’s dew. The plants that had occupied the field days before were now unceremoniously shoved into my bag. They’d stay there until I found out what to do with them. I never realized how convenient it was for them to just shrivel away once their bounty was harvested. There were truly some odd things happening to my farm.

As strange as the recent events in Sagewood had been, I didn’t want to alarm the sprites unnecessarily—especially if everything turned out to be unrelated.

“I... need to talk to Woods about it first,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully. The sprites looked a bit annoyed, but I think they understood. Without another word, I thrust the shovel back into the dirt, resuming the rhythmic task of turning the soil. There was something strangely satisfying about it, the way the earth yielded to the blade, the scent of damp earth rising as I worked.

Despite turning the soil being one of the more monotonous chores on the farm, I found comfort in its simplicity. The repetitive motion kept my hands busy but allowed my mind to wander. The sprites quickly lost interest and drifted back to the farmhouse, probably in search of Lucy or Charlie. I didn’t mind the solitude, though. It gave me a chance to reflect on those first few seasons in Sagewood when work like this had been exhausting and nearly unbearable. I’d come a long way since then, and the chore that once felt burdensome now felt grounding—a connection to the land I’d come to call home.

“Hey.”

I jumped, nearly dropping my shovel, and turned to see Woods standing there with a smirk.

“I heard you lost the race.”

Clearing my throat, I glanced around to make sure the other sprites were out of earshot. “Woods, something weird happened yesterday.”

Woods narrowed his eyes. “It’s okay you didn’t win, Matt. You don’t have to make up an excuse—"

"There was another nature event—a strange one. An earthquake. Do those usually happen in Sagewood?”

Woods shook his head, his mouth still open from when I cut him off.

“The tremors were so bad they opened up a huge pit at the finish line. I’m going later today to help some of the men fill it in.”

Woods’ smirk faded, replaced by concern. I was relieved to see him taking it seriously. After a moment, he spoke again. “I’ve never heard of anything like that happening in Sagewood.” He glanced toward the cave south of my farm. “You think the Cave Spirit could be behind this?”

“I thought about that too, but I doubt it. No one’s seen the Cave Spirit in years, and why would he even bother? Why disrupt a small-town horserace?”

We both fell silent, considering the possibilities. I leaned on my shovel, my hands gripping the worn handle tightly, feeling the rough wooden handle beneath my palms. The dirt at my feet stretched out across the field, waiting patiently to be turned before new seeds could be planted. There was something comforting about the work, the kind of task that kept your body moving while your mind wandered. I sighed and plunged the blade of the shovel back into the soil, feeling the satisfying crunch as it broke through the dried earth.

Stolen story; please report.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the farm as I worked. With each thrust of the shovel, I could feel the dirt giving way, heavy and loamy beneath my feet. Beads of sweat formed on my forehead, the afternoon heat pressing down, but I welcomed it. The physical effort was a welcome distraction from the strangeness going on, a mindless rhythm that kept the uneasy thoughts at bay.

I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm and focused on the task in front of me. The monotonous back-and-forth motion had its own kind of soothing effect, the repetition lulling me into a familiar trance. I dug deep, turning over the soil one patch at a time, and each stroke of the shovel seemed to ease the tension that had knotted up inside me.

The field was large, but I didn’t mind the long hours. The dirt beneath my feet had become a part of me after all these years, the land itself a living, breathing thing. It felt good to care for it, to prepare it for new life. With every scoop of dirt I tossed aside, I found my mind drifting back to all that had happened.

The strange behavior of the harvested crops, the dangerous tremors at the horse race—it all swirled in my mind, making it hard to focus on any one thing. Was there something strange going on in Sagewood, or were these isolated events? If they were related, what would it mean for the rest of us?

I shook my head, pushing the thoughts away. I didn’t have answers to any of that right now, and dwelling on it wouldn’t help. All I could do was keep working, one shovelful of dirt at a time, preparing the ground for what came next. These new events brought uncertainty, but out here, in this field, things made sense. The dirt turned, the seeds were planted, and it was a small thing that I had absolute control over.

The shovel sank into the earth again, and I felt the satisfying resistance as I lifted the soil. The sun continued its slow descent, casting long shadows over the field, but I wasn’t done yet. Not until every inch of the field had been turned. It was hard work, my muscles aching as I pushed forward, but in the end, it was the kind of labor that cleared the mind.

By the time I finished the last section, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky painted in hues of deep purple and orange. I stood there for a moment, leaning on the shovel, my chest rising and falling with steady breaths, and looked out across the field. It was done, and the ground was ready for planting.

I felt a sense of satisfaction settle over me. This land, this small patch of earth grandpa had left me, was mine to tend. No matter what else happened, I was a farmer at heart, and this farm was my responsibility. The thought of getting the farm to level ten, and then freeing the Harvest Goddess lingered in my mind. If I could do that, maybe all the strange occurrences would stop. Maybe life in Sagewood would finally be peaceful for me and my little family.

I chuckled under my breath. Who was I kidding? With my luck, the weird and dangerous would always find its way to me.

Woods glanced from the field to me, “This field is ready for planting,” he said, “but judging by the hour, I’m guessing you’ll save that chore for tomorrow?”

I nodded, the weight of the day’s work settling into my bones. It was late, and I was tired. Planting seeds wasn’t the hardest task, but it took time. There was no rush; the turned field would still be here in the morning, and so would I.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” I said, feeling a rare calm wash over me. The field could wait.

Woods nodded knowingly. “I’m heading out tomorrow to visit Melvin, but I’ll only be gone for a few days.”

Every few weeks, Woods visited Melvin, the wizard in Crimsonshores, to check on his magic levels and ensure his corruption sickness wasn’t returning. It had become so routine that we were all used to it, and he was typically back within a few days. I hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “Do you think you could mention the strange occurrences to him?”

“I was planning on it,” Woods replied. “I’ll let you know if he has any insights.”

We both turned toward the farmhouse, the warm light that emanated from the windows drawing us closer. I opened the door, and smoke billowed out, and Woods and I exchanged an alarmed glance.

“Looks like Leia’s cooking again,” I muttered under my breath.

From inside, Leia's voice rang out, “I heard that!” She stood by the oven, waving smoke away with a dish towel.

Reed and Holly sat at the table, completely unphased by the chaos in the kitchen.

“Maple’s teaching Leia a new recipe,” Holly explained.

“It’s... not going well,” Reed added, narrowly dodging a spatula Leia launched his way.

Indeed, Maple stood next to the oven, her eyes wide in concern.

“What are you baking?” I asked leadingly.

Leia sighed, pulling a pan from the oven. The contents—what were once croissants—were now shriveled, blackened to the point of nearly becoming charcoal. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “It was supposed to be a surprise for you,” she admitted quietly.

A pang of guilt hit me. Lately, there had been fleeting moments between us, but I hadn’t really gone out of my way to do anything special for her. And now here she was, burning herself out—literally—trying to make my favorite treat. It stung a bit, knowing I’d let it get to this.

“How about I take you out on a date tomorrow night?” I asked, hoping to pull her from her slump. The room went still for a moment, and I could see the sprites, especially the female ones, suddenly hanging on the moment. They looked at Leia with wide, expectant eyes, as if waiting for some grand, uncertain revelation. As if it was uncertain whether or not she’d say yes. I had to suppress a smile.

Leia’s lips curved into a smile, a bit of her usual light returning. “I think I’d like that,” she said.