Just as heat drifted in and out through the open doors and windows, life at Golden Fields settled into a gentle rhythm. Life there was rarely kept by clocks, or timehacks now that the trees were in the ground and Luke’s concoctions were assuring they would be viable trees this year.

  No, the daily in and out of that home were tracked by the rise and fall of Sol, the cresting and cascading of Luna. Along with that, the little routines that filled the time between the migrations of those celestial djinn.

  Those things were simple, expected things: feeding the rabbits, checking traps, activating the irrigation, and the calm daily walks Luke and Morel had begun undertaking.

  Each morning, once the rabbits had eaten, Luke would feed Ember, and the young pair would sit on the porch and drink coffee. Morel continued to attempt to lure the fire-coated kitten into her lap with hushed bidding, fluttered eyes, and pieces of tofu-treats.

  Each day, Ember would inch a little closer, letting Morel stretch her hand just a bit farther. She had stolen food right out of Morel's fingers, but the large woman had yet to pet the little cat. Luke assured her that, so long as she remained patient and did not try to force it, Ember would eventually give in.

  Not a soul at Golden Fields had any complaint about the day-to-day. Luke still had to delete hundreds of messages from his ex and family every few days, an unpleasant routine he pushed through like everything else.

  Seeing their messages grow in desperation, not in spite, Luke had even begun to believe that the black hats were not in his future. Eventually, his old relations would understand that he simply had moved on from them, and the subject would die.

  If he made it through this harvest season without the specters of his past meddling, Luke knew for sure he would be free: his parents had given up, and his ex was more content being the mistress of both his father and uncle.

  Their relations would no longer be his problem, and would never again blight his consciousness.

  That day was much the same as the others, but today Morel decided, since the weather was fair, that her painting should be done outside. Before her sat a blank easel; the void of white glared back at her, insulting her creative talents.

  Today, the spark just wasn’t there. Typically, when she sat in the backyard and looked out at the peaks and rolling hills, the brush strokes flowed with ease. Each touch of paint was a simple, natural thing; as easy as breathing.

  But not today.

  Morel had not even applied paint to her palette; she was struggling so to decide upon what to give life to. Should she paint the mountains? The bunnies? Something else?

  The options were legion, but no matter what she thought about crafting, it felt off. So much so that having the audacity to even begin felt like she would be insulting the trade.

  “Still struggling,” Keyil asked, flying down to meet Morel, plastic bags on her belt swishing in the wind.

  “Yeah,” Morel sighed, setting her palette down and hanging her head,

  “Here, this should make you feel better,” Keyil said, fishing a can of sweet coffee out of the bag and tossing it to Morel.

  She caught the warm can and held it tight, taking a pause to enjoy the soothing feeling before opening it and downing the drink.”Thanks, what else is in there?” Morel pointed at the heavy bags.

  “Nothing you would be interested in,” Keyil replied, tucking the bags away. “Just some food for the workers' house.”

  “Ah,” Morel nodded, understanding that Keyil was referring to meat.

  While Luke had complied with Morel's strict no-meat diet, Keyil and the rotating group of hired workers did not. Every night, the smell of smoking beef and burgers wafted through the air. While the succulent odor of bacon and rendering fat was in the mornings.

  The scent made her gag daily, knowing precisely what the cost of such a meal was. But she would not stop them. They were not her, and had their own morals. Forcing them to never eat flesh was not her place. In fact, she still offered them food and invited them to eat alongside her and Luke.

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  The men had even from time to time joined them for breakfast that she or Luke had prepared.

  “Still, I wasn’t expecting you to have painted nothing. I was gone for well over an hour.”

  “Hey, it’s not like you have an easier time writing,” Morel replied. "I remember it took you six years to write your first novel."

  “Not really. At this point, I know what I like to read, and just write stories I would want to read. It makes that process much easier. I mean, I still have to spend a few days outlining, then actually write the thing, but it’s so speedy I already wrote a new outline since I moved in.”

  “Really? What is it about?” Morel asked

  Keyil then explained that she had begun writing a space western romance story, following her typical formula of short, quick development that concluded quickly. Writing like that got to the fun, sexy bits of the story and let the reader feel the highs and lows of the relationship as it unfolded.

  Morel had read many of Keyil's books and had to admit that she felt jealous of her protagonists. Within the pages, the female protagonist simply had a man drop into their life and could easily fall in love, with no genuine issues in their relationship as it developed.

  Half of Keyil's stories even featured half a dozen women swooning after one eligible bachelor. Where they all just understood one another and could get along.

  Books like that generally weren't to her taste. She just could not relate to the idea of sharing a man you are in a relationship with.

  The only sapient Morel had ever dated before her and Luke started to make their affections known was Royoka. Another Torelin like her. Dealing with him turned out to be a painful experience.

  It was a story Morel would much rather not dwell upon, but she had accepted it as her reality. They had been sweethearts throughout middle and high school. But then college arrived. Rokoya wished to return to their species' cradle world, whereas Morel dreamed of attending art school in Italy.

  Morel attempted to have him stay and go to school with her. They had long already agreed they wished to be bonded, but he outright refused.

  Their relationship ended as kindly as it could, but afterward Morel still spent days crying into Keyil’s lap. For many days, Morel would bawl into Keyil's lap, unable to be alone and move past what she saw as destiny.

  Their separation was the first in a nearly decade-long series of painful events that led to now: the death of her mother, shortly after her father. Her having to give up on her dream of being a famous artist to protect their legacy.

  As Keyil continued to explain her most recent tale, Morel started to notice that the details were shockingly similar to her and Luke's lives. A man comes from far away, saves a woman's farm, and sweeps her off her feet.

  The only difference was that Keyil had her characters rolling around in the hay within a chapter or so. Wheras Morel and Luke had only shared a few kisses.

  “Hey, why are you writing about me?” Morel wined.

  “I’m not. I’m just using your life as inspiration. It’s no different than what you do when you look at the mountains.”

  Morel held her tongue about how odd it felt that Keyil was creating a play-by-play of her and Luke's relationship. She could see the point Keyil was making. The ideas were the same, but not identical. Arguing semantics with her was pointless.

  Making such a gripe known would be the same as her saying that how she attempts to paint a landscape based on a picture is the same thing.

  Keyil chuckled at Morel as she pouted, clearly annoyed by the logic her friend was using. “Hey, maybe you can use your life as some inspiration as well.”

  “What do you mean?” Morel asked.

  Keyil leaned in conspiratorially and whispered to her. “You could make a portrait of Luke. Just imagine it. Your small, strong man shirtless, hefting something heavy over his shoulder while covered in sweat.”

  Morel's cheeks flushed, and her breath quickened as she not only saw the image in her mind's eye but also, with her vivid faculties, was transported to the scene. She could feel Luke's shoulders, his soft breath, and warm caress while he looked up at her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.

  She squirmed slightly in her chair, imagining Luke's intense gaze staring into her very soul and seeing her, all of her, and loving it. Flaws and all. The first sapient to do so since Rokoya, nearly a decade earlier.

  “I think you might like that idea,” Keyil teased, planting a ghost of a kiss on her friend's cheek, wrenching Morel out of her daydream.

  “I will think about it,” Morel said, lightly pushing Keyil and the thought away.

  “Where is he anyway? I didn’t see him all morning.”

  “Luke has been writing a report to the coalition about the farm, hoping they will rescind the orders to take the farm.”

  “Ugh, paperwork. Meanwhile you’re right here pining for him,” Keyil rolled her eyes at the man's stubbornness.

  “He is doing what is best for me,” Morel replied, in a level-headed tone Morel rarely used, "and the farm." She added at the end, barely trying to make the ending sound like what her heart cared about.

  Keyil paused as Morel took up a pencil and began sketching on the blank canvas, inspired by their conversation. She remained for a few moments, watching as the shape of the Golden Fields sign began to take form.

  With a smile on her face, Keyil promised to bring Morel some lunch soon, but Morel did not hear her. All of the artist's focus was dedicated to her craft. As if Morel had sunk into the furthest depth of her creativity and design.

  A soft humming filled the air. The rabbits gathered nearby, and Ember curled beside Morel’s hoof, purring as the artist began to work.