In those newly turned soils are slow-growing saplings of regret, longing, loneliness, love. Emotions she has stopped allowing herself to feel. If she were in Mithrandon, she could easily cut down those tender moods, as has long been her habit. But in the openness of Daqiao, with her armor stripped away and no stone walls to protect her, in this foreign land where she only had herself to hold on to—in this place both alien and familiar, Yeva found herself tending to that garden instead.
