Mara stared at the ground around her feet in disbelief.
The vibrant carpet of flowers that usually sprawled on either side of the path like the brightest of welcomes had withered away to a desolate stretch of brown.
"Oh, no…Master Caretaker…" her voice shook as the strings of shock that had been suspending her upright snapped.
She pressed her hands to the brittle grass, seeking some kind of reassurance that the dying garden didn't mean Rowan was dying, too. He couldn't be. Loma promised that she'd seen him come home.
As she lifted her gaze toward Rowan's house, the panic that had begun to swell inside her slowed long enough for her to keep it from taking over. Just ahead of her was a single yellow flower. There were even more beyond that.
It was completely bare here near the woods, but the parts of the garden closest to Rowan's house still held a faded version of their color. It was like the whole thing was a painting that was being erased from the outside in.
