077 | Hands in the earth

Hyacinth’s POV

I came to an unsteady halt in front of Dad’s plaque.

“Cin.” Rhiannon coughed, doubled over, a hand pressed hard to her chest. Her breath fogged the frosty air in front of her, giving her the effect of looking like a boiling kettle as she wheezed.

The seed seemed to bulge in my hand. “It goes here,” I said, falling to my knees and digging my bare fingers into the snow and frozen soil. “It’s a tree for Dad.”

The other trees seemed to lean in towards us as Rhi knelt down beside me and started to dig. Everything felt too quiet, more silent even than we’d become used to throughout the winter. With no animals and no insects left to chirp and rustle, the woods had been quieter than ever. But today, that silence felt unnatural, as if the very wind itself were holding its breath.

Our hands scraped at the earth uselessly, pulling out small chunks of dirt and stone.

“You should shift,” she sighed, her eyes heavy-lidded and her face drawn. “Dolly could dig a hole this size in a mat