“Everything turns.”

Ce’rilla showed her daughter how to plant the acorn, carefully mounding the soil over it.

“The old world?” Sweetbriar had less patience for greenery than ‘Rilla’s older kids, but she was trying, anyway. “That cracked and turned.”

“The acorn does, too. So that an oak can be born.”

“Are we the oak?”

“That’s the idea. And from us…”

Sweetbriar patted the earth carefully. “Then there’s another acorn?”

“Exactly.”

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