The Planting
Zora looked down upon Bles, where he stood to his knees in mud. The toil was beyond exhilaration‚ÅÝ‚Äîit was sickening weariness and panting despair. The great roots, twined in one unbroken snarl, clung frantically to the black soil. The vines and bushes fought back with thorn and bramble. Zora stood wiping the blood from her hands and staring at Bles. She saw the long gnarled fingers of the tough little trees and they looked like the fingers of Elspeth down there beneath the earth pulling against the boy. Slowly Zora forgot her blood and pain. Who would win‚ÅÝ‚Äîthe witch, or Jason?
Bles looked up and saw the bleeding hands. With a bound he was beside her.
‚ÄúZora!‚Äù The cry seemed wrung from his heart by contrition. Why had he not known‚ÅÝ‚Äînot seen before! ‚ÄúZora, come right out of this! Sit down here and rest.‚Äù
She looked at him unwaveringly; there was no flinching of her spirit.
“I shan’t do it,” she said. “You’se working, and I’se going to work.”
‚ÄúBut‚ÅÝ‚ÄîZora‚ÅÝ‚Äîyou‚Äôre not used to such work, and I am. You‚Äôre tired out.‚Äù
“So is you,” was her reply.
He looked himself over ruefully, and dropping his axe, sat down beside her on a great log. Silently they contemplated the land; it seemed indeed a