Higher Plain Ch 28: Back Home, Back To The Field!

(Krelzor) Morning always had a certain kind of magic to it. The sky still clung to the last threads of night when I stepped outside, boots c

(Krelzor)

Morning always had a certain kind of magic to it.

The sky still clung to the last threads of night when I stepped outside, boots crunching softly on the dry earth. A faint mist clung to the edges of the fields like it hadn't quite decided whether to stay or leave, and the world felt hushed—like it was holding its breath, waiting for the sun to come and shake it awake.

I took a deep breath of that early air. Cool. Still. Honest.

Today was gonna be a long one.

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and stretched out a kink in my back. My gaze drifted left, to the edge of the property—the south field. The very same patch Faylina flattened like a pancake on day one. A jagged path of cracked earth, churned soil, and a few traumatized turnips still littered the place.

"Yup," I muttered. "Definitely not gonna fix itself."

I turned back to the porch and leaned down beside my old tool chest, flipping open the latches with a rusty creak. Inside sat the old faithful—my Groatspade. Not quite a shovel, not quite a hoe, the Groatspade was something of a family heirloom. A wide, flat blade with a notched back for breaking clumps, a curved front for shaping furrows, and a hickory handle worn smooth from years of stubborn Thorns gripping it through every drought and bumper crop alike.

"Alright, Groaty," I said, lifting it from the chest and resting it on my shoulder. "Let's go teach that field some manners."

The walk to the south field took a few minutes. It always did, especially now with so much of the path uneven from the big gal's impact. I kicked a few stones aside and stepped over a boot-deep crater with a wince.

When I reached the edge of the destruction, I stopped. Took it all in.

It was easy to forget how strong she was. How big. Standing beside her now, in her smaller form, it was like watching a mountain pretend to be a hill. But this? This field reminded me just how much power she really carried in those legs.

And she'd been so careful since then. I could see it in every cautious step she took, the way she sat on the couch like she was afraid it'd burst into flames.

I glanced back toward the house.

Quiet.

Good. She needed the rest.

She carried a weight I couldn't even begin to measure, and last night... that was the first time I saw her really allow herself to be here. Not out of guilt or duty—but present. Sharing a laugh. Eating cake like it was her first real joy in ages.

I smiled, then turned back to the field.

Time to fix what's fixable.

I planted the Groatspade in the first chunk of broken earth and pressed down with my boot. The blade sliced in, and I worked it like I had hundreds of times before—flip, crack, flatten, shape.

Groatspade wasn't fancy. But it was reliable.

And honestly, it gave me time to think.

As I carved the first row back into something resembling a planting line, I thought about what Faylina had said. How she didn't know what to do. How she felt torn between helping and running, between staying and going home.

I couldn't blame her. I'd feel the same if I showed up somewhere and accidentally leveled half a kingdom.

But there was something else. Something unspoken in her eyes. Like she was afraid not just of hurting things—but of belonging to something again.

I paused, wiping sweat off my brow as the sun crept higher over the hills. Its rays kissed the tops of the trees and started pouring light down onto the field, giving everything a golden edge. Even the broken parts seemed less ruined in that light.

I looked back at the house again. Still no movement.

I chuckled quietly. "Sleep in, big girl. You've earned it."

Turning back, I continued working, my body falling into the familiar rhythm. Push. Pull. Turn. Shape.

Each furrow I made felt like a quiet declaration—something can be fixed. Something can be planted. Something can grow again.

And maybe that was enough for now.

Maybe that's all any of us needed.

One row at a time.

I was halfway through the third row when I heard the back door creak open.

At first, I figured maybe the wind had nudged it—but then I heard the unmistakable sound of soft footsteps on dirt, followed by the faint rustle of fabric.

I looked over my shoulder and there she was—Faylina.

She had changed into something new, something a bit more... well, practical. A simple linen tunic (custom-stitched from what looked like my curtains), belted around her waist, with her long hair tied back in a neat braid. She looked... determined. And tired. But also lighter, somehow.

She walked up slowly, her gaze landing on the field before flicking down to where I stood, Groatspade in hand and mud on my boots.

"Sorry I slept in," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I should be out here helping."

I leaned on the Groatspade and gave her a little smile. "You're fine. You needed the sleep more than this field needed lines in it. Honestly, I was hoping you'd take the whole morning off."

She shook her head. "No, I can't. Not anymore." Her voice was quiet but steady. "I've done enough running... and enough damage. I need to start fixing my mistakes. Let me help, Krelzor. Please."

I blinked.

That was... different. Not just the words, but the tone behind them. There wasn't hesitation anymore—just a kind of quiet resolve. Like something had clicked into place overnight.

I nodded and motioned toward the uneven rows I'd been working on. "Well, if you're offering, I won't say no. I'm laying out a new field here—gonna grow something sturdier, maybe drought beans or smoke corn."

She looked at me curiously. "What are you doing to the ground?"

"Oh! Right, yeah—this," I said, lifting the Groatspade a little for her to see. "You use the flat edge here to make straight lines in the soil. Makes channels for the water to flow evenly. Simple but effective."

She crouched down a bit to examine it more closely, tilting her head in that way she always did when trying to figure something out. Her eyes narrowed.

Then she stood up straight, brushed her hands off, and said, "I have an idea."

I tilted my head. "That usually means I should be mildly concerned."

And then she closed her eyes.

"Wait—uh... wait, what are you—?"

Too late.

I stumbled back a bit as the air around her shimmered. Her body began to glow faintly, and then—whoomf—the ground shook beneath my feet.

She was growing.

Again.

Her figure surged upward like a tree sprouting in fast-forward. Her simple linen outfit groaned in protest before finally giving up the ghost—ripping in several places as her frame expanded past the limits of mortal stitching. The hem of her tunic fluttered around her like a cape as her form rocketed up past the trees, then past the hills. A shadow fell over the field. My field.

"Wait—seriously!?" I shouted, shielding my eyes from the rising sun—and from the literal giant woman now towering above me. "We just got new chairs, Fay!"

She stopped growing, her massive silhouette blotting out the sun like a mountain with legs. Her bare feet had sunk into the soft soil, carving craters where I was planning to plant onions. I looked around. The dirt had cracked in long lines under the pressure of her weight.

Faylina smiled sheepishly from up high and crouched down—carefully—so her enormous face hovered a little closer to the ground.

"Um... what exactly are you doing?" I asked, trying not to stare at the giant, utterly obliterated footprints behind her.

"Just trust me," she said, her voice rumbling like distant thunder.

She extended one hand, her finger lowering toward the field like a god about to redraw the lines of the world.

With a careful motion, she pressed her fingertip into the soil and dragged. The ground parted like soft butter, a perfectly straight furrow carved several yards deep into the earth. She did it again. And again. Each line was absurdly precise, evenly spaced, and somehow... beautiful.

I just stood there, Groatspade hanging limp in my hand like a forgotten toy.

"Well," I muttered, letting out an awkward chuckle. "That's... one way to do it."

She looked down, a little too proud of herself, and gave me a playful wink.

"The power of a Xylarion," I added with a shrug.

And it was true.

There was something surreal about watching her, this titan of a woman, on her knees drawing lines in my field with the same care I used on my tiny plots. There was strength in her—obviously—but more than that, there was care. There was intention.

And maybe—just maybe—we could make something work between her sky-high powers and my humble little Groatspade.

But first things first.

"I'm gonna need to rework the watering system," I muttered, glancing at the deep trenches she left behind.

And maybe find a tarp big enough for a thirty-foot giant.