A. H. Lee

The clearing around the tower itself was ironically greener than the riverbank, partially because of the numerous bonfires that had raged at its base in an attempt to burn it down. The wood and ash turned into good soil over the years, and Sairis had long-since cleansed the salt here, working on it since childhood. The garden boxes looked curiously rustic and cheerful against the blackened stone foot of the tower. Trellises overflowed with flowering bean vines, and Sairis had planted squash, cabbages, and tomatoes earlier this spring, now that he had more water. He knew he wouldn't be around to harvest most of the vegetables. He hoped that wildlife would eat it. There'd been little need to protect the garden in his youth, because so few creatures could survive in a waterless wood, poisoned by salt and dying of drought. He'd been excited by the smallest signs of life—a rabbit or a bird, a mouse.

He was pleased to see, as they rode up, that animals had indeed been at his cabbages, squash, and tomatoes, and they'd made a serious dent in the bean vines.