The farmer hid the seed safely among the clothes in his dresser, and busied himself plowing and readying the fields for the new season. The strange seed just kept nagging at him. Finally he broke down and confided in his wife.
Through the next fortnight, the farmer and his wife shot the dresser nervous glances, although they never mentioned it to each other. On the night of the full moon, they planted the strange seed together with silent wishes and a solemnity that made them both feel foolish.
The next morning they both ran outside, neither of them sure what they were expecting. But there was nothing to be seen. Just the marker they left behind and some freshly tamped dirt. “Well, dear” Began (the farmer’s wife. Did I ever give these characters names? Let’s call her Sheila. Is that an old enough name? I don’t know.), “What were we expecting anyway? A strange character with a seed, and suddenly our prayers are answered?” The farmer (again with the names. John? John is fine.) had no response. Their eggs were getting cold but neither of them were really in the mood for breakfast.
The newly planted seed was more or less left alone by John and Sheila, who didn’t really like being reminded of their false hope. John for one, despite never having paid the stranger, felt swindled, used, made a fool of. It was just good sense not to make deals with strangers, or hooded figures in general.
Weeks passed like this. Finally, the day after a long rain storm, Sheila had had enough. She went out to the marker, spade in hand, intending to dig up the offending object just so she would no longer have to look at. But as soon as she saw the marker, she stopped dead in her tracks. Was is a mirage, or was the area… shimmering? She called John over to stand next to her, and they both stared for a minute, until John spoke up, “It’s just the recent rain, Sheila. Come inside. I’ll make us some tea.”
It’s certainly shimmering. Sheila thought as she looked outside the next morning. She walked out to the little patch of dirt. This insignificant patch of dirt on their farm was, unmistakably magical. There was no denying it. But what kind of seed had they planted? Had they been wise to plant it given its origins? She felt a hand on her shoulder and gave a jolt. It was John. “I’m sorry I scared you.” John said. But then he noticed what Sheila was looking at. “Sheila, what’s going on?”
The farmer and his wife kept an eye on the constantly shimmering patch of dirt. It was certainly a curiosity. Fortunately, it had been planted away from the preying eyes of the families in neighboring farms, because not only did it continue to shimmer, but something was growing. In a few weeks, there was something that resembled an onion flower with a very short, sturdy stem.