Fanfic:Dirt Digging
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"You want me to... till," the word rolled awkwardly off his tongue, "this entire area?" Zeen kept his uncertainty hidden behind the veneer of disdainful indifference. Only the rapid back-and-forth movement of his eyes betrayed him, but thankfully the gardener was too busy admiring the nearby rows of neatly trimmed hedges to pay attention what the Amadician was or was not looking at.
"Yes," came the simple answer, the wiry woman that addressed him shaded from the sun beneath the visor of a wide brimmed hat. "I was told that you would enjoy it better than painting walls." An askance look. "Not quite sure why you'd be painting walls as a Soldier, but..." Her eloquent shrug perfectly encompassed how he felt.
Jaryd. Zeen felt himself twitch a little at the mention of painting walls. Light blasted man. "It is a long story. I am sure the M'Hael would explain it to you himself had he the time, but your garden should not be made to wait," he said quickly, deflecting the attention back to the woman's pride and joy. Or so he hoped.
"Oh! Yes!"
As the tall man listened to the woman launch into detailed explanation of what each section was for and why, he could not help but watch her. She was excited and animated in a way that he could never match and it was fascinating to see. Briefly, she explained the optimal depth she wanted him to reach. Zeen allowed himself to smile a little even as he tried to quell his uneasiness. If he had to hazard a guess, the area in question was roughly a quarter of the size of the Channeling Yards. It would take days to do what he could do in minutes. And yet...
Again, in his mind's eye, he saw the rubble of the Weapons Hall. He pushed at the memory irritably, his hands curling against his thighs.
The scars between his shoulders twinged and he shifted in response, an absent touch going to the scar that slashed across his forehead. The gardener woman still prattled on without stop, but the sound of her voice distracted rather than annoyed. He pulled in a deep breath through his nose, shoving the doubt away into a distant place where he could not see it. Indecision and hesitation had plagued him his entire life; none of it had ever been useful.
Zeen cleared his throat, the slight noise enough to bring the wiry woman's words to a halt. She glanced up at him, an apologetic smile coming to her face. He waved that away. "I enjoy your enthusiasm. I did not mean to interrupt but I thought you would like to know that I will do as you ask. I am not sure how exactly this will work yet, but I will move in quarter sections. You will tell me if the end result is not to your specifications?"
She nodded, pleased.
His lips quirked upwards slightly. He seized, saidin setting the very marrow of his bones ablaze. Slate grey orbs went to the immediate area in front of him. It was odd to see such a large swath of the gardens bare, every speck and granule jumping out at him. Earth was a living thing in his hands, thick cables of glistening emerald thrusting into the ground as he interwove the flows through soil and dirt. Row by row he went, guiding the threads, shaping the weaves, pulling and tugging as he readjusted the warp and weft of the mesh-like lattices he created. He was not entirely sure how it was that he knew what to do, only that manipulating the earth came easily to him.
He made a kind of scooping underhand motion, flipping his hand over and the ground in front of him heaved in response. The first tube-like cage of power turned over, breaking the surface of the dirt, bringing up the richer, blacker soil from below to the top. Zeen paused, glancing over to the woman with the wide brimmed hat. She responded with a huge grin and gestured for him to continue on with it. A fierce surge of gratefulness bounced off the Void, sliding away before he could acknowledge it.
A second tube-like cage of power turned, a third, and finally a fourth. It had taken him barely thirty seconds. He allowed himself a faint smile. There were three more quarters for him to "till". He released the weaves he held and moved on to create the next set of Power wrought lattices. It was not until after he had finally finished, leaving behind an appreciative and ecstatic gardener, that the Amadician Soldier realized that he had channeled without supervision. His lips quirked up and he resisted the childish urge to glance around guiltily. No one had stopped him so far; no need to advertise what he had just done.
