There is a growing wickedness taking hold in the garden. Their hands take root in destruction, their teeth are rot upon the new leaves. They are a storm in this well maintained little garden. A garden that was born from tired hands and a battered heart. It's gardener is one that took his time to find his way to happiness.
"Catkin," the gardener falls back onto his haunches and sighs heavily, "I did not bring you out here for weeding, though when the time comes for that I will surely call for your expertise." He says it with a light chuckle, despite the scolding nature of his words.
The short lived sprouts lay in ruins, finding their ill timed end at the destructive hands of a baby who had no defense against the crimes laid against them. Bigger hands pulled them gently back and they made an absolutely wretched noise of despair. But the gardener did little more than roll his eyes at the dramatics and plopped the baby beside him.
"You would mistreat the ground that bears you fruit?" He uses his spade to gesture towards the new misaligned grooves in the dirt. The two stared at each other, one with a fond wisdom and other with huge empty eyes that sought to pierce the heart of weaker beings.
"Don't-" Murray didn't even finish his thought before Delavay was darting back out into the soil he had just prepared the other day. There was a spray of soil, a muffled 'oomph' and an indignant shriek.
"Unconventional problems," he said with a grunt, "require unconventional solutions." Faster than a hawk could beat it's wing, he had his boot in one hand and a baby by their chubby leg in the other.
"This is still considered spending quality time," he said smugly, "besides, the weather is too perfect to stay cooped up indoors and I've already made too much good progress to stop now."
Delavay's angry eyes barely peaked up at him from the top of the boot. "Oh, don't you give me that," Murray tsk'ed, "you brought this indignity on yourself." Though, indignity might have been too strong a word, because Delavay's angry expression did nothing but endear him further in his parent's heart.
"Now these," he said picking his spade back up, "will make for a lovely addition to dinner when the time comes to pick them." After planting a row he stopped to wipe his brow, and when he glanced back at Delavay he silently added new gardening boots to his shopping list.
For Delavay's part they took their revenge in ruining their new prison and hoping that maybe the exposed, bootless foot would suffer some kind of sun damage. Or at the very least a splinter.
There is a wickedness that grows in the garden. They are loved more than words could ever hope to describe. It is an evil that has taken root and grown into something beautiful.
There was a baby born of magic and someone else's smile in mind. They are tended to just as lovingly as the vegetables in the garden their hands tried to destroy. There is no anger to be found in their misdeeds and destruction. Only the sound of a fond, exasperated sigh that follows after a swooping swallow.
Delavay was a child born of magic and a villainous heart. And just like him, they are loved for more reasons than could ever be numerated. They will be shown patience, and given space to grow. They are still yet a sprout, their branches need sheltering and their trunk needs support. Just like the man that tends the garden, they will be given that love.
It is a beautiful day to be out in the garden, Murray thinks wistfully. He looks over at Delavay and his heart swells. A beautiful day indeed.
Based on this lovely bit of art from @aroace-get-out-of-my-face
I love it so much and think of it often.
