turps

One day, the wind blew chilly, a hint of frost in the air. It got dark early now, and Mikey sometimes felt a bit yellow and

"I'm cold," Pete complained, his greens laced in with Mikey's. They were alone in the box now, all the other carrots had been pulled long ago. Gerard had gone away a few weeks earlier, and Mikey could see the little trophy in the windowsill of the house: a golden pepper, with Best In Show underneath it. Ray had gone, although Mikey was a little suspicious of the gleam in The Gardener's eye when she measured his full length before picking him.

Even Frank and Jamia were gone, after shepherding in an entire swarm of little courgettelets, who flowered and bloomed even in the shortening days.

"She'll come for us soon," Mikey said once, quietly. "We're the only ones left." Pete leaned in and didn't respond for a long time. His taproot was thick and a bit knobbly now, stretching deep into the box, and they had grown close together, their crowns almost touching.

"She'll have to take us together," Pete said finally, and Mikey couldn't help it. He started to laugh, and it was relieved and uncomplicated and happy. Pete rustled to himself, pleased, and Mikey let his fronds tangle a bit more securely into Pete's.

"Yeah," Mikey said, peacefully. "Okay."