Chapter Text
There are certain realizations that come slowly to children as they grow older. For Desta, the most significant of these is this: she does not very much like the temple that is her home.
It’s not so bad when she’s young, and is mostly ignored. There are no children her age to play with, and she must endure long lessons with the high priestess every morning, but then she has the entire afternoon to explore and entertain herself.
But soon enough Desta is deemed old enough to have responsibilities, and it’s almost shocking how horrible she is at them. The priests assign her many duties, obviously desperate to find some hidden talent that will justify her presence here, but none stick. Any attempt at wielding magic is useless, the stuffy rooms where academics study and write scripture simply put her to sleep, and she somehow manages to fumble through the words of every ritual and service she takes part in. She can’t even do fun things, like going out with the hunting parties; she is too clumsy, they say, too loud. She scares away all the game and tramples through their careful traps and plans.
Desta knows all of this is a horrible disappointment to Galawain; she doesn’t need other people to say it. The high priestess always likes to say it, anyway. A lot.
Thankfully, there is at least one chore that Desta is actually fairly good at, and that is tending the gardens.
For all of the statues and murals that decorate Galawain’s sanctuary, the gardens are the only place in her home that Desta really thinks of as beautiful. Out there, everything is bright and fresh and alive, nothing like the severity and harsh tones that permeate the rest of the temple. Desta memorizes the names and qualities of each and every one of her plants, and their names run together in her mind the way Galawain's prayers never could. She tends to the vegetables, with their soft green leaves and treasures buried beneath the soil; the medicinal herbs, with their scents that fill the warm summer air; the crafting plants, with their deep purple blooms and bright teal petals. She even has love in her heart for the simpler weeds, the daffodils and dandelions and all other manners of invaders which annoy the priests and make Desta smile.
And so, as soon as her lessons and other chores are done, Desta runs out to the gardens and drops to her knees in the fresh earth. She doesn’t pay much mind to the dirt on her robes- the high priestess won’t mind, not if Desta tells her it happened while she was hard at work.
Before she begins, Desta takes a moment to simply dig her hands into the soil. It’s damp from the recent rain, and gives way easily under her hands. A bright grin lights up her face- the conditions are perfect for new plantings. Satisfied, she wipes her hands on her robes, picks up her spade, and gets to work.
And in the back of her mind she thinks that when she is finally old enough to leave this place, these gardens might be the one thing she’ll actually miss.