Fortification

Thistle adjusted her cloak, though it was no use. The thunderstorm had pelted the Glade from every direction all day. By now, she’d lost track of how long she and the other residents had been out in it. Even so, they’d made great progress since the morning—reinforcing the walls around the community garden and focusing most of their efforts on redirecting the runoff to fill the wells and water stores. Although this strange, endless storm had caused more damage than most seasons, the sheer sheeting of rain had replenished the basins with enough water to nourish the garden through summer.

When Thistle proposed the idea of strengthening the Glade to the more senior residents, it didn’t take much convincing. This surprised her—she’d been apprehensive about the magnitude of the task. She expected pushback, especially given the danger it posed. The damage was extensive, and repairing it would mean asking nearly the entire Glade to volunteer—to risk themselves for a collective effort. She knew how much that required.

But to her surprise, everyone agreed. Few hesitated to help the young guardian—to stand together, face the cyclone, and protect what they had worked so hard to build. And it was just as well. The deluge showed no sign of stopping.

She’d expected the brave volunteers to falter by now—tired, frustrated, or worse for wear as the rain battered their brows. All of them were soaked to the bone, despite the enchantments Thistle had cast on their clothes, and the days out working grew longer with each passing storm.

Yet as the night thundered on, so did their morale. Even through the downpour, she was met with smiling faces—faces that still believed they had a chance.

Thistle was proud of them—her community. And though she would never admit it aloud, she was also beginning to plant seeds of pride in herself. She was starting to believe: maybe she was cut out for this. Maybe it was her time. Her turn to lead.

And yet, even as that hope bloomed, unease crept in—like it was all coming together faster than it should.

Still, they pressed on, sore but steady, determined to finish what they started—together. All the residents pitched in, including friends with unique skills. The nematodes carved paths with their tails. The foxes lent their expert skills in digging to create new wells. The rabbits stomped the leaves back into the soil to assist in composting for when the wet season finally cleared. The Fae with powers provided warm fires that would not be quenched by the typhoon until the work was done, using a spell Thistle taught them from her Grimoire. They cleared out branches from fallen trees as Thistle worked tirelessly to repair them. Whatever leftover branches existed, The Dryads used to create tiny blockages, fences, dams, and passes to assist in rerouting the new streams into the wells, rivers, and basins throughout the Glade.

Everyone had a role, and each role mattered just as much as the next.

Seeing all this made Thistle smile as she restlessly directed each resident, making sure to lend a hand whenever needed.

That was until she spotted, through the blurry gale, the beaver family running up from their home by the dam.

“It sprung a leak!” the baby beaver cried.

Thistle’s heart dropped. “How bad is it?”

Papa beaver ran up to her urgently. “The river is rolling fast downhill. We have to get the residents out from down below.”

“All right then—let’s go,” Thistle said breathlessly as they ran toward the dam.

They rushed, Thistle slipping through the mud. The dam was a ways away from the garden, and the route had become treacherous. The family was adept in moving quickly through the mud, helping Thistle by clearing a path with their tails as they ran. The journey was enough time for her stomach to turn and tumble like a rockslide

When she finally saw the dam, it took everything in her not to lose her newly grown confidence. The leak was much larger than she had anticipated.

“It’s manageable,” she fibbed. Her voice barely held.

“You don’t have to lie. We came straight away because…” Mama Beaver swallowed the thought. “We tried to go in and do some repairs when it was first spotted by our youngest here,” she said solemnly, “but anything we make with our mud—the rain just washes it away. We usually have more time for the adobe to dry, and then it’s resistant”

“No—thank you. You’ve done such great work already, especially spotting it so soon. I can enchant the mud for you, that way it’s more resistant. Or even ask the Dryads to ask the trees to stretch until it’s fully dry” Thistle offered, surprised at how mature the plan sounded when she said it out loud. She could see it in their eyes—a glimmer of hope reignited as she spoke. She continued. “It proves that the Glade is stronger together. Right?”

“Always stronger together.” Papa Beaver said, grabbing his youngest in his famous ‘Big Beaver Hug.’

She laughed, but inside she felt her gut twisting again. Something felt off—too quiet. Too still. Even the celestial tantrum around them seemed to pause.

When suddenly, a strong crack like thunder broke the tender moment. The group immediately looked around. A crack of thunder, but no lightning.

A crack.

Not thunder.

Thistle gasped. She whipped around, to see the leak opening like a gaping catfish jaw, spilling water rapidly into the burgeoning river.

“No!” She shouted, as she ran to the bank, assessing the direction of its flow.The dam protected a major part of the Glade—now, a major flood rushed toward it. Towards the homes of the many residents who were fighting to protect the rest of the Glade. Residents she asked to protect the Glade alongside her.

"How many?" she whispered.

"I don't know what –" Papa Beaver squeaked, transfixed by the horrible waves .

"How many houses will be lost down there?"

Thistle couldn't tell if it was the squall casting a shadow over his already forlorn face, or the weight of the situation. He met her eyes desperately, but he couldn’t say. She already knew.

And there it was again—that crushing weight in her chest. That slithering doubt, like a snake swallowing a stone. The horrible persistence voice telling her that she had no business leading, no skills to guard her own. Telling her that she wasn't a guardian at all.

If only she had—

No. She is. They are.

Thistle squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. This wasn't a time for her to cry. She wasn't the one that may lose her home. And she will refuse to allow any more destruction to take place, especially when she saw what everyone else was capable of. Who was willing to risk all that they were to protect the others.

“Go. Please, clear everyone down below. I… I’ll figure out how to patch it!” She shouted through the stormfront. They nodded as they rushed away. “I have to.”

She kneeled down, trying to steady herself, and placed her hands into the mud.

The roots from the nearby trees and river intertwined underneath where the dam was built—underneath the river—enough where, if she petitioned the roots, they could grow tall enough to cover the dam.

She steadied her breath and focused her will, letting it flow like the river itself. Letting all the thoughts of anxiety—the fears, the doubts, and the not good enoughs—flow in and out until all she could hear was the patter, the lightning, the thunder, and the rhythm of the river’s movement. She had to use this anger to contain the angry waves. To use the land to save it.

“Please… Please be here with me. Save us. Let me save them.” She pleaded.

And then she felt it.

Vines giving way, allowing themselves to stretch up toward the turmoil, but not without strain. Strong grasping tendrils wrapping around the dam to cover the leak. She dug her hands into the soil, dirt painfully lodging underneath her nail beds. She focused the magic through her veins, feeling it rip through them like boiling water into the roots. She squinted through the maelstrom. Begging the vines to keep their shape. To hold. To not buckle under the pressure.

They obliged. Growing and shifting roots reached around like scraping claws to hold each stone in place. Snaking through the cracks, slowly plugging the rushing surge.

“Wow,” said Daddy Beaver, breathless from the walk.

Thistle slowly stood up, body numb and sore from the effort, to slowly meet his gaze. She was surprised to see not just him and his family, but many residents who he gathered and whisked to safety. Their eyes snagged on her like thorns in fabric, not afraid – spellbound

“No kidding,” said Mama Beaver. “That’s some real powerful magic. I haven’t seen anything like that come out of someone so small.” She smiled. “Small, but powerful, Thistle Rose. We’re lucky to have you as our Guardian.”

Thistle turned her face away, exhausted and unsure. Even still. Mama Beaver could tell—she was smiling. Maybe even believing it.

💦Leek and Potato Soup🥔🍲

For when your clothes are soaked but your morale is unbreeched.

Recipe:

Recipe Information

Total Time: ~45 minutes
Skill Level: Beginner-Friendly
Category: Cauldrons – Soups & Stews

🥗 Dietary Information

✅ Vegan-Friendly (with plant milk)
✅ Gluten-Free adaptable (use GF flour or omit)
✅ Cozy, simple, and pantry-friendly

⚠ Potential Sensitivities

• 🌾 Contains Gluten (flour; swap or omit)
• 🥛 Contains Dairy (if not using plant-based milk)
• 🧅 Contains Heavy Alliums (onions and leeks)

🍽 Notes from the Kitchen

This is one of those soups that hugs you from the inside. Whether you're drenched from an unexpected downpour or just need to feel warm all the way through, this recipe is rich, earthy, and easy to pull together with a handful of basic ingredients. Mandolin-cut potatoes give it a silky texture, and the soft green leeks bring healing energy to every bowl.

🌿 Ingredients

• 🌿 4–5 potatoes, peeled and sliced mandolin-style – Potatoes bring grounding and stability
• 🌿 1 stalk leek (both green and white parts, separated) – For clarity, healing, and resilience
• 🌿 ½ onion, finely chopped – For emotional strength and a steady base
• 🌿 Water or vegetable broth – Water holds memory; broth adds body and soul
• 🌿 ¼ cup milk or plant-based milk – Adds softness and emotional nourishment
• 🌿 1 tbsp flour (or GF alternative) – Thickens the bond, like pulling everything together
• 🌿 Salt – Essential for purification and flavor release
• 🌿 Seasonings to taste – Season until you're sneezin’!
  Suggested: truffle-Parmesan blend (for richness), cilantro (for brightness and cleansing), black pepper, garlic powder
• 🌿 Capful of apple cider vinegar or white vinegar – To awaken and sharpen all flavors

🔪 Method

Prep the Potatoes

• Peel and slice your potatoes mandolin-style—thin rounds instead of cubes.
• Add to a large pot and cover with water or vegetable broth.
• Boil until fork-soft.

Smash into Soup Base

• Once tender, mash the potatoes directly into the broth using a potato masher or large fork until thick and well combined. (Use this to release pent up emotions, so satisfying)

Build the Body

• Add ¼ cup milk and 1 tbsp flour to the pot and stir well.
• This will create a thick, comforting soup base.

Add the Greens

• Slice the leeks—use the green, grainy parts in the soup and save the circular white rounds for garnish.
• Stir chopped onions and sliced leeks into the pot.
• Simmer until everything is soft and fragrant.

Season for the Soul

• Season until you're sneezin’—seriously.
• Make sure to include salt, and your favorite warm, herby blends.

Finish with Acid

• Add just a capful of apple cider vinegar or white vinegar to brighten all the flavors.

Garnish and Serve

• Top with those pretty leek rings you saved earlier.
• Serve with crusty bread, pour over a baked potato, or—if you’re feeling bold—dip your fries in it.

✨ Best Enjoyed…

• After being caught in the rain, dripping with laughter or exhaustion
• When your clothes are still damp, but your heart is warming again
• With a hot bowl in your hands and a blanket around your shoulders
• Shared with someone who’s willing to get soaked with you, and then stir the pot while you dry off