The night after market day passed quietly—or so Bianca thought. The animals had settled well. The ducks had taken to the pond as if they'd always lived there, the chickens found a favorite corner to roost, and the young goat… well, the goat had been oddly restless.
She had named him Pochi after Lara insisted he "needed something cute."
Pochi had spent the afternoon nibbling everything within reach, bleating at any passing insect, and giving the kind of stubborn side-eye that only goats could manage.
By sundown, Bianca was sure he'd tire himself out.
But sometime around midnight, a faint sound woke her.
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It was soft at first—a light clink, like something metal shifting. She sat up in bed, listening. The old mansion had its share of nighttime creaks and sighs, but this was different.
Another clink. And a low, muffled bleat.
Bianca got out of bed and reached for her robe. The hallway outside her room was lit only by moonlight spilling in through the high windows. She padded downstairs, careful not to wake Lara or the caretakers.
The sound grew clearer as she stepped outside. It was coming from the direction of the orchard.
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She followed the narrow path past the poultry shed, her bare feet brushing against cool grass. The air smelled of damp earth and something faintly sweet—like fruit just on the edge of ripeness.
And there, in the faint glow of the moon, stood Pochi.
The little goat was halfway through a section of bamboo fencing, pushing with his horns until the wood gave a groaning protest.
"Pochi!" Bianca hissed.
The goat froze, ears twitching. Then, as if deciding she was too slow, he slipped through the gap and trotted toward the far side of the orchard.
Bianca muttered under her breath and followed.
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They passed the mango trees, now lush with blossoms, and the rambutan grove, their branches whispering in the breeze. Bianca noticed something odd—the grass seemed fresher, greener, the further Pochi led her.
Finally, the goat stopped at the base of a guava tree she hadn't paid much attention to before. Its trunk was thick but scarred, and she could tell it hadn't borne fruit in years.
Pochi circled the tree once, bleated softly, and began pawing at the ground.
"Pochi, it's the middle of the night—" Bianca stopped mid-sentence. The ground where Pochi scratched began to shift.
At first, she thought it was just loose soil. But then, small shoots—bright green and glowing faintly—sprang up where his hooves touched. The light spread in delicate threads across the base of the tree, seeping into the roots like water into cloth.
Bianca stepped closer, her heart pounding. The air felt thicker here, charged with a quiet hum she could almost hear in her bones.
The guava tree shuddered—actually shuddered—its branches trembling as if in a sudden breeze.
And then, without warning, buds burst open along its limbs.
Bianca's breath caught. In seconds, the tree went from bare to heavy with pale green fruit, the scent so rich and fresh it made her dizzy.
Pochi bleated once, proudly, and looked at her as if to say, Your turn.
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End of Chapter 11