The market was already humming by the time Uma made it there.
People moved between stalls with baskets and cloth bags, haggling over prices, catching up on gossip. The smell was a mix of warm bread, fruit, smoke, and someone selling fish out of a bucket with way too much confidence.
She clutched her board like it was a sacred artifact.
Her first target:
SALT PODS???
'Right. Easy. Salt is… white. Flaky. I know what salt is. I've seen salt before.'
Except apparently, in this town, salt came in a dozen different forms.
She wandered until she found a stall selling minerals and dried herbs.
The vendor was an older man with a long white beard that curled slightly at the end, like it got bored of growing straight. His sleeves were rolled, and his smile came easy—crinkled eyes, sun-browned skin, hands dusted in powder.
He looked at her kindly.
Like he'd seen a lot of confused faces at this stall before, and hers didn't even break the top five.
She gave a polite nod.
Then pointed at one of the jars—fine, off-white crystals that looked like salt.
She held up her board and hesitated.
Then, thinking fast, made a circle with her hands.
A pod. Maybe?
The old man leaned closer, squinting at her writing like he was trying to read a foreign language by moonlight.
"…Salt…" he said slowly. Then paused. "Pods?"
Uma nodded.
Very seriously.
He blinked. Then turned and reached under the stall, rummaging around in a basket until he pulled out a small handful of round, pale beige bulbs—like garlic cloves crossed with tiny dried figs.
He held one up.
"They burst when you boil them," he explained gently, like she understood a word. "Sweet-salty. Preserved in smoke. These what you meant?"
Uma stared at them.
Then gave a slow thumbs-up, the universal sign of 'I have no idea what these are but I'm committing.'
He chuckled. "First time cooking?"
She just smiled politely and nodded again.
He wrapped up half a dozen in a soft cloth and handed them over, still smiling.
"On the house today, young lady. You remind me of my granddaughter. She used to write worse than that, too."
Uma blinked, a little stunned.
Then bowed.
Deep.
'Okay. Salt pods… somehow secured. First trial complete. On to whatever the hell fennel root looks like.'
She tucked the cloth pouch into her bag and looked back at the board
Only five items left.
And roughly zero confidence.
This was going great
The apothecary was tucked between a seamstress and a window seller, its doorway marked only by a faded green curtain and the smell of something earthy and vaguely medicinal.
Uma stepped inside, ducking her head as wind chimes jingled softly behind her.
It was a mess.
Not in a dirty way—more like someone had unpacked a hundred years of natural remedies and just… never repacked.
Shelves were stacked high with jars, boxes, dried vines, wilting petals, bundled roots, and powders in bowls that definitely shouldn't be out in the open.
There were no labels.
No signs.
Just chaos.
Beautiful, herbal chaos.
The girl behind the counter couldn't have been older than twenty.
Freckles scattered across her face like flour dust. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun that had clearly given up hours ago. She wore three belts, none of them matching, and a smock that looked like it had fought in a spice war.
She turned around just as Uma stepped in.
"Oh hello!" she said cheerfully, eyes lighting up like someone had actually asked to hear about her day. "Let me guess—you're new, because I don't forget faces and I definitely would've remembered yours."
Uma gave a small wave, eyes darting between shelves.
'Where are the labels? Where is anything?'
"Let me guess again," the girl said, stepping closer and already talking at double speed. "You're looking for something but don't know the name. Or maybe you do know the name, but you don't know what it looks like because people in this town don't teach things properly, and Serosa definitely sent you because she never gets her own stuff anymore, she just sends people and expects them to telepathically figure it out—no offense, you seem very capable."
Uma blinked.
Then slowly flipped up her board.
FENLL ROOT?
The girl leaned forward, squinting.
"Ohhhh, fennel root! Yes, yes, I knew it had Serosa written all over it. Not literally, obviously, that'd be weird, but you know what I mean…"
"Ohhhh, fennel root! Yes, yes, I knew it had Serosa written all over it. Not literally, obviously, that'd be weird, but you know what I mean. She's the only one who buys it in bulk, and she does it like clockwork. I mean, she's very precise, very elegant, very—how do I say this?—intimidatingly direct. Like, if Serosa ever complimented me I think I'd die on the spot, y'know?"
Uma nodded slowly, cautiously.
"But yes—fennel! Technically it's wild fennel around here, but same properties, just a bit stronger. Or spicier? Earthier? Depends on how it's dried. I prep mine over ash, which helps cut the bitterness, but some people say it weakens the potency, but I say those people are boring. Fennel's weird like that. You get a little variance depending on which side of the hill it was picked from, which season it grew in, and how much shade it got. Shade's very important, by the way. Full sun fennel? Tastes like regret."
Uma blinked again.
She hadn't moved since the word "wild."
"So anyway!" the girl continued, now sweeping her hand toward a shelf that looked identical to every other shelf. "Fennel's amazing. It's good for coughs, for stomach aches, for purging, and for this one weird trick Serosa swears by—something about grinding it with clover and applying it to burns? Honestly, I don't know how she figured that out, I asked her once and she just said 'lived long enough.' Which doesn't help, by the way."
Uma's knees locked.
Her soul was halfway out the door.
"But I did test it once—on myself—and it stung like betrayal, but it worked. Probably. I didn't get a scar, so that's a win, right? Anyway, she only ever buys the root. Just the root. Never the seeds, never the fronds. No idea why. Probably a spell thing. Or a trauma thing. Or maybe she just hates leaves. I could see that."
A moment passed.
Uma's eyes glazed over, her head gently tilting.
'…Did I die? Is this the afterlife?'
"I once tried making fennel candy! It was terrible. Like, truly awful. I don't know how those city apothecaries do it. Maybe it's the sugar? Maybe it's my curse? Don't answer that."
Uma had, at this point, leaned against the nearest shelf with the kind of posture usually reserved for fainting goats.
The girl clapped her hands.
"Oh! Right! You're waiting for it, aren't you?"
Uma's head twitched up like she'd been electrocuted.
The girl grinned. "Here."
She plucked a knotted root bundle off the middle shelf—one that looked no different from the others—and handed it to Uma.
"This is what you need. Dried, smoked, ash-prepped wild fennel root, harvested on the east ridge by me, thank you very much."
Uma took it reverently.
Like it was the last life raft on the ocean.
"Tell Serosa I've got the next batch curing already, and no I won't deliver it personally unless she promises not to stare through me like I'm a ghost with taxes."
Uma gave a small bow, just to avoid another monologue.
"Wait!" the girl added as she walked away. "What's your name? Wait—never mind, it's probably a secret, that's fine. You've got main character energy anyway. Come back anytime!"
Uma fled the apothecary like she owed it overdue rent
Once outside, she tucked the root carefully into her bag and stared at her board for a second.
She didn't write anything.
Just rested her head against it.
'I survived. But at what cost.'
She looked at her board once more.
'Let's try river pears. They don't seem that challenging.'
The fruit stall was at the edge of the market, nestled beneath a faded orange tarp that fluttered like a lazy flag.
Uma spotted it easily—the pear symbols carved into the wood above, the scent of citrus and sugar still clinging to the air.
She stepped up, already fishing for her board.
But one look at the crates told her everything she needed to know.
Empty.
Not a single pear.
Not even a bad one.
Behind the stand, a tall woman with curly hair and strong arms looked up from reorganizing crates. She gave Uma a polite smile—one that dimmed just a little when she saw the confusion on her face.
"Looking for river pears?" she asked. "You've got good timing—if good means bad."
Uma nodded once, holding up her board with the desperate scrawl:
RIV PERZ
The woman chuckled. "That's them, alright."
She sighed, brushing her palms on her apron. "My boy went out to get some from the grove, should've been back by now. Told him not to dawdle, but you know kids. Always find something shinier than fruit."
Uma tilted her head.
Then mimed holding something and waiting.
"Yeah," the woman said. "You're welcome to stick around. He shouldn't be long."
So Uma did.
She sat on a crate near the stall, board resting across her knees. A breeze tugged at her scarf. The market moved on around her—carts clattered, voices called, someone tried to sell what sounded like "sun-roasted crickets" two stalls over.
She waited.
Ten minutes.
Twenty.
Forty-five.
'Okay. Maybe he's actually harvesting the tree.'
At one hour, she stood and walked back over.
The woman frowned. "Still not back? Ugh. Alright. He's out by the old grove path. Just past the east trail, right side, little clearing with a stump that looks like a duck. You'll know it when you see it."
Uma gave a thumbs-up.
Sort of.
Then she headed off
The walk was longer than expected.
Twenty minutes of light hills and packed dirt paths—enough to make her start sweating, but not quite enough to regret the journey.
The grove was quiet when she arrived—birds chirped lazily above, leaves rustled, and the scent of fruit hung thick in the air.
Then she heard it.
Sobbing.
Not loud.
But small.
She rounded a bend in the trail and spotted him.
A little boy, maybe eight or nine, clutching a woven basket full of—yep—river pears. He stood perfectly still, knees locked, eyes wide with terror.
And in front of him?
Squirrels.
Three of them.
Fuzzy. Wide-eyed. Nibbling on acorns with the unbothered energy of creatures who own everything they stand on.
One was perched on a log.
Another stared directly at the basket.
The third had climbed up onto the stump and was doing nothing but making direct, unsettling eye contact with the boy like it was personally offended.
Uma blinked.
'…Is he being mugged?'
The kid whimpered. "They won't move. I tried to step back, but the fat one hissed at me!"
Uma stared at the squirrel.
The squirrel blinked slowly.
'Honestly? I believe him.'
She crouched down beside the boy and gently tapped his shoulder. He turned to look at her like she was made of light and salvation.
"M-Miss?" he sniffled.
She nodded.
Pointed at the basket.
Then at the trail behind them.
He shook his head. "They'll follow us. I know they will."
She rolled her eyes.
Then stood.
Clapped her hands once.
The squirrels didn't care.
So she took off her scarf and whipped it through the air like a flag.
The squirrels did care about that.
They scattered into the brush, chittering like Uma had insulted their entire acorn-based lineage.
She held the scarf out like a champion waving a victory banner, then looked back at the boy.
He stared up at her like she'd just saved the village.
And then, without asking, he grabbed her hand.
Tight.
"Can you walk me back?" he asked, voice still a little shaky. "Just in case they come back."
Uma blinked.
Looked at their joined hands.
Then at the empty trail.
Then sighed.
'Sure. Why not. I fight puppets and fennel girls and now squirrels. That tracks.'
So she walked him back.
All twenty minutes.
With the basket in his arms.
And his hand in hers.
He didn't let go once.
Not when a bird rustled in the trees.
Not when a rabbit darted across the path.
Not even when they reached the edge of the market.
He only let go when he saw his mother.
She rushed over, grabbing him and hugging him with that half-worried, half-annoyed energy only moms can pull off.
"I told you not to dawdle!" she said, half-laughing, half-scolding. "Did you pick a fight with a porcupine or something?"
"Worse," he whispered. "Squirrels."
Uma just shrugged.
Held up the board.
ALL GOOD
The woman looked at her. Blinked. Then gave a grateful smile.
"Thank you, sweetheart. You're a lifesaver."
Uma bowed politely.
Then turned around to walk off after stuffing her basket of pears to the point she'll never need to get them again probably—
Only to hear behind her:
"I'm never eating pears again."
She snorted.
Quietly.
But it was real