Work Text:
Rowan sank to the ground, tired from digging. His trusty spade, usually brimming with enchantment, was dull and silent.
He pulled something small and round out of his pocket and studied it for a minute before chucking it into the hole unceremoniously. If the old can had anything to say about that, Rowan could not hear its complaint above the sound of water sinking into parched soil.
He felt the magic return, though.
Frantically, he pushed his hands into the earth like roots, curling them around the acorn. The soft hum of life under his fingers felt almost like spring.