The Green Witch's Path

The sun was creeping higher into the sky by the time Briar, Myrtle, and Reginald reached the edge of the village. Briar’s basket swayed gently at her side, and while most people might have found the sound of a content carrot humming to itself odd, Briar was rapidly becoming immune to weirdness.

"Are we almost there?" Reginald grumbled from his spot in the basket. "It’s cramped in here, and I think I’m developing basket burn."

"Carrots don’t get basket burn," Briar muttered, adjusting the basket as they passed a group of curious villagers. She gave them a tight smile as they whispered and stared at her. Great. The last thing she needed was a rumor spreading about her walking around with talking produce.

"Easy for you to say," Reginald huffed. "You’ve got legs."

Briar ignored him, focusing on the path ahead. Magda’s cottage wasn’t far now. Perched on the edge of the village, right where the forest began to thicken, it was the perfect place for a witch who valued peace and quiet—which, considering Magda’s personality, was no surprise. Magda wasn’t exactly the friendly type. In fact, she was the type of witch who grumbled at birds for singing too loudly and once threatened to curse a tree for dropping too many leaves in autumn.

"Are you sure Magda’s going to help?" Myrtle asked as they rounded the last bend in the path.

"Help might be a strong word," Briar admitted. "She’ll probably just complain about how I’m bothering her. But she’s the only one I can think of who knows anything about enchanted plants. She’s been doing magic for… well, forever, I think."

Myrtle shrugged. "Worth a shot. Besides, maybe she’ll find Reginald as hilarious as I do."

"Not likely," Briar said, grimacing at the thought of Magda’s reaction to a talking carrot. Magda wasn’t exactly known for her sense of humor.

When they finally reached the cottage, Briar paused at the crooked wooden gate. Magda’s garden, in contrast to Briar’s chaotic one, was neat and orderly. Rows of herbs were planted with precision, each plant spaced exactly the same distance from its neighbors. There wasn’t a single vine out of place, no mischievous flowers humming show tunes, and definitely no floating pumpkins.

"She’s going to hate me," Briar muttered as they made their way up the stone path to the door.

Myrtle knocked cheerfully on the weathered door. "Maybe she’s in a good mood today."

Briar raised an eyebrow. "When has Magda ever been in a good mood?"

Before Myrtle could answer, the door creaked open to reveal Magda herself—short, hunched, and wearing an expression that suggested she had just bitten into a particularly sour lemon. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Briar and Myrtle standing on her doorstep.

"What do you want?" Magda barked, her voice rough and impatient. "I’m busy."

Myrtle smiled brightly. "Hello to you too, Magda! You look well!"

"I look the same as I always do," Magda snapped. "Now, if you don’t have anything important to say, I suggest you leave before I—"

"I have a talking carrot," Briar blurted out, shoving the basket toward Magda before she could change her mind.

Magda blinked, her eyes narrowing further. "You what?"

Reginald, clearly sensing his moment to shine, poked his leafy head out of the basket. "She said she has a talking carrot. Honestly, do you people need everything repeated?"

Magda stared at Reginald for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel and disappeared into her cottage, leaving the door wide open.

"Was that… good?" Myrtle whispered.

Briar winced. "I think she might be getting a shovel."

But to their surprise, Magda reappeared moments later with an old pair of glasses perched on her nose and a large book clutched in her hands. She shoved the book at Briar, who nearly dropped it from the sheer weight of it.

"Page 237," Magda said brusquely. "There’s a section on enchanted vegetables. You can read, can’t you?"

"Uh, yes?" Briar said, fumbling to open the book. "But I thought—"

"Reading first, questions later," Magda interrupted, crossing her arms.

Briar flipped through the book, her fingers trembling slightly as she found the right page. Sure enough, there was an entire section dedicated to enchanted vegetables, complete with illustrations of cheerful-looking tomatoes and cabbages that appeared to be mid-conversation.

"Enchanted vegetables," Briar muttered under her breath. "This is actually a thing?"

"Of course it is," Magda said irritably. "It’s not common, but it happens. Too much magical energy in the soil, combined with specific magical plants, and—poof. Your vegetables get opinions. And mouths."

"Fantastic," Briar said, staring at a particularly smug-looking illustration of a potato. "Is there a way to… reverse it?"

Magda sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was trying very hard not to lose her temper. "Why would you want to reverse it? What’s the harm in a talking carrot? They’re harmless. Annoying, but harmless."

"Excuse me," Reginald interrupted. "I prefer ‘charmingly witty.’"

Magda ignored him. "Unless you’ve got an entire garden full of them, you’re not in any real trouble. Just make sure they don’t start a rebellion."

"Rebellion?" Briar repeated, her voice going up an octave. "Is that a thing too?"

Magda gave her a withering look. "Everything is a thing if you let it go too far."

Myrtle, who had been quietly enjoying the spectacle, leaned forward with a grin. "So what you’re saying is Briar’s garden could lead a vegetable uprising?"

Magda sighed again. "Look, most enchanted vegetables are harmless, but they can get out of hand if they feel neglected or mistreated. Plants, especially magical ones, respond to how they’re treated. So, if you want your garden to behave, you need to show it some respect."

"Respect?" Briar echoed, her mind spinning. "I’ve been taking care of my garden for years. I water it, prune it, and make sure it gets plenty of sunlight."

"Yes, but do you listen to it?" Magda asked pointedly.

Briar blinked. "Listen to my plants?"

Reginald rolled his eyes. "See? I told you witches don’t listen."

Magda nodded. "Plants have their own energy, their own way of communicating. If you’re going to be a proper Green Witch, you need to learn how to tune in to that energy. It’s not just about growing things—it’s about understanding them."

Briar felt her stomach twist. She had always thought of herself as good with plants, but she’d never considered that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t really listening to them. The thought of her garden feeling neglected, even with all the effort she put in, made her feel strangely guilty.

"So," Magda continued, "if you don’t want your garden to stage a protest, I suggest you start treating your plants like the magical beings they are. Work with them, not just on them."

Myrtle, who was thoroughly enjoying the lecture, gave Briar a playful nudge. "Looks like you’ve got some apologizing to do."

Briar groaned. "Great. I’ll add ‘apologize to my plants’ to my list of things to do today."

Magda shot her a look. "If you don’t want an enchanted zucchini leading a march on the village, I’d make it your top priority."

Briar nodded, feeling both relieved and overwhelmed. It was good to know she wasn’t completely losing her mind, but the idea of her garden being on the verge of rebellion was more than a little concerning.

"Thank you, Magda," Briar said, trying to muster as much gratitude as possible. "I’ll… work on that."

Magda grunted, clearly not impressed. "Good. Now get out of my garden. You’re disturbing the peace."

Briar didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed the basket and gestured for Myrtle to follow her as they made a hasty retreat down the path. Reginald, of course, had something to say as they left.

"Charming woman, really. I can see why you came to her for help."

"Quiet, Reginald," Briar muttered, though she couldn’t help but smile a little. Magda’s advice, though blunt, had actually been helpful.

As they made their way back toward Briar’s house, Myrtle turned to her with a grin. "So, what’s the plan? You going to start holding a council meeting with your garden?"

Briar sighed. "I guess I’m going to try to ‘listen’ to my plants, whatever that means. And hope they don’t start a revolution in the meantime."

"Hey, if they do," Myrtle said, slinging an arm around Briar’s shoulders, "at least you’ll have Reginald to negotiate for you."

"Not helping, Myrtle."

"Always here to help!"

Briar shook her head, but she couldn’t deny that a small part of her was actually curious to see what would happen next. Maybe Magda was right. Maybe there was more to her plants than she realized.

And maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something bigger than a simple vegetable patch.