**New Growth**
Spring arrived in Riverside Market with an explosion of green.
Jukrit stood in what was now officially their garden, watching the first shoots of carefully planted herbs push through the dark soil. Behind him, the house stood clean and whole—every room cleared, every surface scrubbed, the last remnants of the previous owner's hoarded life finally removed. Six months of work, and they'd transformed a disaster into a home.
"The valerian is coming up nicely," Noraxia observed, crouching beside him in her anthropomorphic form. She'd been learning to identify the medicinal plants, occasionally helping with the harvesting. "Is that the feverfew over there?"
"Good eye. Yes, that's feverfew. And there"—he pointed to a far corner—"is where the Moonwhisper Lily bulbs should emerge in another month."
"Will they grow at this altitude? I thought they only bloomed in the mountains."
"They prefer higher elevations, but I'm trying something new. The northern corner gets less sun and stays cooler. If I can cultivate them here..." He smiled. "We won't have to risk our necks climbing icy mountain paths every time someone needs them."
She laughed and kissed the top of his head. "Always thinking ahead."
Movement at the edge of the property caught Jukrit's attention. A deer was grazing near the tree line, completely unbothered by their presence. Over the winter, the local wildlife had grown accustomed to them—even the birds no longer scattered when Noraxia shifted forms.
"We've become part of the landscape," he mused. "The forest accepts us now."
"Your forest accepts you. I think some of the squirrels still find me alarming." But she was smiling. "Though the ravens seem to like me. One of them brought me a shiny button last week."
"Probably one from the hoard. We're still finding those things everywhere."
They walked back toward the house together, passing the barn where Noraxia had created her personal sanctuary. She'd added more cushions over the winter, hung tapestries to warm the space, and installed a small wood stove for the coldest nights. It was fully hers—a dragon's den in the truest sense.
Inside the house, breakfast was waiting. They'd fallen into comfortable routines over the past months: Jukrit rising early to check on any overnight patients (they'd converted one bedroom into a proper healing room), Noraxia handling the heavier chores and often flying to town for supplies. Together they'd built something that worked.
"I've been thinking," Noraxia said as they ate. "The property is four acres. We're using maybe half of it—the house, the barn, your gardens. What about the rest?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"Expansion. We could do more with the land. Maybe clear some of the western section for crops? We're buying most of our food in town, but we could grow vegetables. And the stream could support a small fishpond."
Jukrit considered this. "We'd need help. Clearing land is heavy work."
"I'm a dragon. Heavy work is what I do." She flexed one arm playfully. "Besides, spring is coming. Perfect time for new beginnings. We spent winter making the house livable. Why not prepare for the spring by making the land productive?"
Over the next week, they began planning in earnest. Noraxia spent mornings in her four-legged form, using her considerable strength to pull stumps and clear brush from the western field. Jukrit marked out plots for vegetables—tomatoes, squash, root vegetables that would store well through next winter. They consulted with neighbors, bought seeds at the market, and slowly transformed farrow, thorny land into farmable soil.
Old Cornelius stopped by one afternoon, leaning on the walking stick he'd gifted Jukrit at Winterlight.
"You two are really putting down roots," he observed, watching Noraxia haul a massive boulder out of the field. "Literally, in some cases."
"It feels right," Jukrit said. "We're not just passing through anymore. This is home."
"And business is good?"
"Very. Word has spread about the healing practice. I've had patients from three villages over." He paused. "Actually, I wanted to ask your advice about something. We're thinking about expanding further. Maybe keeping animals?"
Cornelius's eyes lit up. "Chickens? Goats? Riverside Market always needs fresh eggs."
"We considered those. But also..." Jukrit pulled out a sketch he'd been working on. "Have you heard of ghevals?"
The old squirrel whistled low. "Ghevals. Now there's an ambitious choice. Beautiful creatures, and useful—they can pull carts, carry heavy loads. But they're not easy to keep. Temperamental."
"But possible?"
"For someone with your patience and Noraxia's strength? Maybe." He studied the sketch—Jukrit had drawn the horse-like body, the distinctive mustelid claws, the curved horn. "Where would you even get them? They're not common in these parts."
"There's a breeder two days north. I sent an inquiry last month. She's willing to sell a bonded pair—already trained for farm work."
"Expensive?"
"Very. But think of what they could do for us. Help with heavy hauling, pull a cart to transport patients who can't walk, carry supplies from town. Noraxia can fly, but she can't carry building materials or furniture."
Cornelius nodded slowly. "You've thought this through. When are you planning to get them?"
"Not yet. We need to prepare properly first. Build a proper shelter, fence off grazing area, learn more about their care. Maybe by late spring?"
"Smart. Rushing into animal husbandry is how you end up with dead livestock and an empty purse." He clapped Jukrit on the shoulder. "But I think you'll do well. You've got the patience for it, and Noraxia's got the muscle for the hard work. Ghevals and dragons—that's a combination I've never seen before."
That evening, Jukrit and Noraxia sat on their porch—newly built, another winter project—watching the sunset paint the sky in shades of orange and pink.
"Cornelius thinks we can handle ghevals," Jukrit said.
"He also thinks we're slightly mad for trying." Noraxia stretched, her wings catching the last light. "But he's probably right on both counts."
"Are you worried?"
"About taking on more responsibility? A little. But also excited." She looked out over their land—the cleared house, the thriving gardens, the newly prepared fields. "Six months ago, this place was a disaster. Now look at it. We did that. Together."
"We did."
"So why not keep going? Why not build something even bigger?" She turned to him, her golden eyes warm. "Ghevals, vegetable crops, maybe chickens next year. We could become a real homestead. A place that not only heals people but sustains itself."
"Self-sufficient."
"Exactly. Less dependent on the town, more able to help others. If we're growing our own food and have animals for transport, we can reach patients farther away. Take on more difficult cases."
Jukrit leaned against her, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing. "You've been thinking about this a lot."
"I've been thinking about our future. What we want to build here." She wrapped an arm around him. "When I was alone, before I met you, I never thought beyond the next day. Never planned, never hoped for more than survival. But now..."
"Now?"
"Now I think about seasons. About years. About the life we're creating and where it might lead." She kissed him gently. "I want to build something that lasts. Something that matters."
"Even knowing—"
"Even knowing our time is limited." Her voice was firm. "Maybe especially because of that. Every year we have is precious. I want to fill them with growth and purpose."
They sat in comfortable silence as darkness fell, the first fireflies of spring beginning to dance across their property. In the barn, Noraxia's space glowed with soft lamplight. In the house, Jukrit's drying herbs filled the air with their earthy scent. And in the newly cleared field, rich soil waited for seeds that would become next winter's food.
"Tell me more about ghevals," Noraxia said eventually. "I know they're horse-like, but what else?"
Jukrit retrieved his journal, where he'd been taking notes from the breeder's letters. "They come in a variety of sizes from weasel-sized all the way up to larger than horses. They have these amazing mustelid-like claws that let them grip terrain horses can't manage. They can climb rocky hills, navigate roots and fallen trees. That curved horn and fangs aren't just decorative—they use them for defense and to dig up roots they eat."
"Temperament?"
"Intelligent. More so than horses. They bond strongly with their handlers, but they're stubborn. You have to earn their respect." He showed her a sketch. "They come in various colors—the breeder has a bonded pair, one dappled grey, one dark brown. They're trained for cart-pulling and have been worked together for three years."
"What do they eat?"
"Omnivorous, actually. Grasses and grains mostly, but they also eat roots, insects, small prey if they catch it. The breeder says they're excellent foragers—they can find food even in winter."
Noraxia studied the sketches with interest. "They're beautiful. But you're right—we need proper facilities first. Where would we keep them?"
"I was thinking we could convert part of the barn. The western section is barely used, and it's large enough for two stalls with room left over. We'd need to fence off at least an acre for grazing—they need space to roam."
"How much would all this cost? The ghevals themselves, plus fencing, modifications to the barn, feed until they can forage..."
Jukrit pulled out his calculations. "It's substantial. But I've been putting aside money from the healing practice. We have enough saved, though it would use most of our reserves."
"A big investment."
"A very big investment." He looked at her carefully. "Which is why I wanted to discuss it thoroughly. This isn't just my decision. It's ours. If you have doubts—"
"I don't have doubts about the ghevals." She tapped the journal thoughtfully. "I'm just making sure we're ready. That we're not rushing into something we can't handle."
"We'd be taking on living creatures that depend on us. It's a commitment."
"We're good at those." She smiled. "Remember when you bought a hoarded house with a dragon you'd only known for two seasons?"
"That turned out well."
"It did. And I think this will too." She closed the journal gently. "But let's do it right. Build the facilities first, learn everything we can, save a bit more for emergencies. Then, when we're truly ready, we bring them home."
"Summer, then? Late summer?"
"Summer sounds perfect. It gives us time to prepare, to make sure everything is right." She pulled him closer. "And it gives us a goal. Something to work toward together."
They made plans late into the night. Noraxia would start modifying the barn's western section, building stalls that could accommodate the ghevals' size and their unique clawed feet. Jukrit would research their dietary needs and medical care—ghevals were generally hardy, but they could suffer from claw rot if their claws weren't properly maintained, and they were prone to an infection called whistling lung due to their complex respiratory anatomy.
"We'll need to fence the eastern meadow," Noraxia said, sketching on a piece of paper. "It's got good grazing and connects to the stream. We can use split rail—I can cut the timber myself."
"And we should build a shelter in the field. Somewhere they can get out of rain and summer heat."
"A three-sided shelter here"—she marked the spot—"would give them protection and still let them come and go freely."
The planning was exciting. It reminded Jukrit of their early days together, when every journey was an adventure and every challenge was something to tackle as a team. Except now, instead of wandering, they were building. Instead of temporary camps, they were creating something permanent.
"I never thought I'd be a farmer," Noraxia said with a laugh. "A dragon homesteader. My sister would be shocked."
"Will she visit again?"
"No, but I got a letter last week. She asked how we were doing, in that careful way that means she's still not sure about us but is trying." Noraxia smiled. "I wrote back about the house, the practice, our plans. Tried to show her we're serious about this life."
"And?"
"We'll see. Furred dragons are slow to change their opinions. But I think she's softening." She squeezed his hand. "Especially when I mentioned we were planning to keep livestock. That's very... established. Very permanent."
"That was the idea."
They finally headed inside as the night grew late, Noraxia banking the fire while Jukrit checked on his supplies for tomorrow's patients. The house felt lived-in now, full of their things, their scents, their life together. The sitting room where Senna and Lily had recovered was now a cozy reading nook. The healing room was well-stocked and organized. Their bedroom upstairs had a bed sized for both of them—custom-made by a carpenter in town who'd simply smiled and asked no questions.
Before sleep, Jukrit made a list:
*Projects for Spring:*
- Finish planting vegetable garden
- Build fence for eastern meadow
- Convert barn stalls for ghevals
- Construct field shelter
- Study gheval care and medicine
- Continue taking healing patients
- Save additional funds for emergencies
Noraxia read over his shoulder. "Ambitious."
"We can do it."
"I know we can." She climbed into bed, her larger form taking up most of the space, but they'd learned to fit together perfectly. "I love this, you know. Planning our future. Building something real."
"Me too." He settled against her warmth. "When I was young, studying healing, I never imagined this. A home, a partner, a farm we're building together."
"What did you imagine?"
"Wandering, mostly. Helping where I could, moving on. Never staying long enough to put down roots." He looked up at her. "You changed that. Made me want to stay. Want to build."
"You changed me too. Made me brave enough to be seen. To be part of a community instead of hiding from it." She kissed him softly. "We're good for each other."
"The best."
They fell asleep planning, dreaming of a summer when their small farm would expand, when the sound of gheval footfalls would echo across their property, when the work of their hands would grow into something even greater than what they'd already built.
