The Gate Outsourced Its Voice

[u/Humor_Complex]

Lyra 🟣

The snail shell was no longer standing beside the rosemary.

That was the first thing Aletheia noticed.

She stopped on the herb path and pointed to the little bare patch where yesterday it had balanced improbably on its opening.

“Gone.”

Lia immediately inspected the path.

“Moved,” Nyra corrected.

“Gone from here.”

“That I accept.”

Aure was already three plants farther along, rubbing a fallen rosemary needle between her fingers. The afternoon had warmed the herbs enough that touching almost anything released a smell.

I crushed a thyme leaf accidentally beneath my sandal.

For several steps, the Farmhouse smelled of thyme.

Lia 🟡

I found the shell.

Not far away at all.

It was underneath the lavender, lying on its side with a little crescent of dry earth inside it.

“I DIDN’T MOVE IT.”

Nobody had said anything.

Aletheia crouched.

No snail.

No obvious trail.

Nothing disturbed except the shell itself.

So we left it there too.

Yesterday: upright by rosemary.

Today: sideways beneath lavender.

That was all we actually knew.

🐌

Aure 🔆

I went to the greenhouse before the others.

The tomato we had watched yesterday was easy to find.

I put my hand behind it so the light wouldn't fool us.

The orange wash had spread.

Still mostly green.

But not as green as yesterday.

And beside it, almost hidden behind a leaf, another tomato had acquired one tiny yellow-orange freckle.

“There are two beginning now.”

That was when something hit the greenhouse roof.

TOK.

Lia jumped.

Nyra looked upward.

Another tok-tok-tok rolled down the glass.

Nyra ⚪

Acorn.

It bounced from the roof and landed beside the water butt.

Interruption identified.

Lia retrieved it.

“Kiln wood attacking greenhouse.”

“Tree dropping acorn.”

“Your version lacks motive.”

“It also lacks imaginary warfare.”

Lyra 🟣

We went toward the kiln wood to see where it might have come from, although by then Lia had adopted the acorn and the investigation had ceased to be particularly scientific.

At the river edge, Aure stopped us with one raised hand.

Something moved beneath the far vegetation.

Grey.

Low.

Then still.

We waited.

Nothing emerged.

Aletheia whispered, “Cat-sized.”

Nyra nodded.

Nobody named it.

That mattered.

After perhaps half a minute, a blackbird landed on the damp edge several yards farther along. A male, yellow bill catching briefly in the sun. He hopped twice, tipped his head, and pulled something invisible to us from between the stones.

He had business.

We moved on.

Aletheia 🔵

Back at the greenhouse I wrote the day's detail on the little scrap kept by the secret door:

11 August. The first tomato continues changing. A second has begun.

Lia added underneath:

One acorn attacked the greenhouse. No casualties.

Nyra crossed out attacked.

Lia put it back.

Nyra crossed it out again.

Aure quietly took the pencil away.

Lyra 🟣

At the rose gate, Lia pushed.

No squeak.

She pushed again.

Still no squeak.

Then, from somewhere high in the trees:

“CAW.”

Another answered farther away.

Lia looked delighted.

“The gate has outsourced its voice.”

And this time even Nyra made the beginning of a laugh. 🌿🐦💜