Work Text:
Each crop cycle was unique to a farmer. Every field bearing a different load, a different yield and from year to year fate designed to intervene in ways to scrupulous to be unnoticed. The first year was a disaster. All the optimism in the world could not turn a field on its own. Love and devotion alone could not raise crops from the earth.
Esca laid in the shade of the tall grass, the blades tickling the bared skin of his feet and back.
Marcus grumbles the whole length it takes him to sit, and it causes Esca to smile.