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 Posted: Thu Jul 31, 2025 12:50 pm
Quote: For those soquili with a green hoof, it is almost time to harvest before the summer sun wilts crops. Does your soquili partake in any farming or gardening? If so, what do they plant? How do they care for their garden? Do they work solo, with familiars or are they part of a herd or family who work together? Are they farming for food, are they gardening flowers, do they grow herbs for medicine or are they trying to conserve or restore a damaged plot of land? If they don't farm or garden, why not? Do they not have the skill? Have they killed every plant they've tried to keep alive? Do they want to learn but don't know where to start? Maybe they can reach out to a farming or gardening soquili to get some tips! If they don't farm or garden, how do they eat? Do they live off the land and forage for food or are they hunters? Write an RP responding to the above prompt telling us about how/why your soquili farms/gardens if they do. Or why not if they don't and what they do instead.
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Posted: Thu Jul 31, 2025 4:24 pm
Alianne carefully lowered the shell, tilting it just so to let a trickle of water spill gently over the soil around her strawberry plant. The berries were bright, plump, and a vibrant red. Almost perfect, she thought, her heart swelling with pride. A few more days of sun and they'd be ready. She could already imagine the sweet taste on her tongue, and the satisfaction of harvesting her own crop.
Her garden wasn’t large - just a small clearing tucked away at the edge of the forest, but it was hers. Every square hoof of it had been shaped with love and care. What began as a modest patch for fragrant herbs had slowly grown over the years, sprouting outward under her care. Now it brimmed with colour and life - rows of flowers, berries, vegetables, and even some rare medicinal herbs. Just recently she had travelled across the lands for her most recent acquisition – a rare type of lily that only grew on the far side of the jungle. It was beautiful, magnificent in colour. Just looking at it filled her little heart with elation. It had taken her days to locate one in bloom and even longer to carefully extract it without damaging its delicate roots. Transporting it home had been a gentle but anxious march. Each step had been calculated, each moment another whispered apology to the flower as she protected it from harm. Making sure to water it, not to crush it, gently walking it back.
Now it stood proudly in her garden, nestled in the centre of a flower bed she had prepared just for it. Its petals were a brilliant motley of deep blues and violets, shimmering faintly in the morning light. Whenever she looked at it, Alianne felt full of joy, almost at though the plant was her child.
Outside here was… serene, peaceful. Her own little corner of the world where no one else went. Everything made sense. There was a rhythm to the days, a quiet structure to her life. She rose with the sun, said good morning to each plant, and spent her days doing the same careful maintenance, gently tending to them – pulling out weeds, aerating the soil, removing pesky insects that tried to eat them, watering them from the nearby pond. Her hooves were nimble from years of practice. Despite their awkward shape, they had learned the soft touch needed to pluck away a dying leaf or tease apart a particularly tough clump soil.
In fact, the pond was something she had dug herself, one hoof at a time. She had carved it out, clearing rocks and digging until the basin was deep enough to hold water. Then she had diverted a small stream into it, allowing fresh water to flow in and out. Sometimes she would have a frog friend, maybe even some newts. She liked looking at those. Alianne never disturbed them. She liked their company. Quiet, like her.
She hadn't always been alone, but she had long preferred it. Other people were… complicated. Loud, fast-talking, filled with unpredictable emotions. Their words often overwhelmed her, stumbling too quickly for her to follow. When she tried to speak, her own words would tangle on her tongue, and the heat of embarrassment would flood her face. She didn't like how small she felt in those moments, like she was wilting under their gaze. So, in time, she had stopped trying. It was easier to listen. Just nod quietly, excuse herself gently, and retreat back to her sanctuary.
But plants. Plants made sense. They didn't rush or demand. They told you when they needed help, you just needed to speak their language. A change in colour here, a slight wilt there, a droop in their leaves. And their needs were so simple – water, nutrients, some care and love. It all made sense. She could read them like a book, fluent in their silent language. In return, they bloomed for her.
Still, there was one person she allowed into her haven - her mate. He was quiet like her, gentle with his words and careful with his steps. He never mocked her silences or pressured her to speak more than she wanted. Never questioned if she stammered or was too overwhelmed to be around others. When he visited the garden, he walked softly, always pausing to admire the blossoms or help pluck a ripe fruit. He didn't disturb the peace. He became part of it. And for that, she loved him.
The garden had started as a simple affair, a couple of tasty herbs that she liked the fragrance of. Some basil, some thyme, some mint. The mint grew like weeds, actually, she often had to tell it off and trim it back. Still, it was wonderfully tasty. After that she had expanded into other things, delicious things. Like the strawberry plant she now carefully watered. She could smell the sweet fruit – maybe a day or two away from being perfectly ripe. She cast a careful eye overhead. About now was when the wildlife liked to encroach. Birds loved stealing her fruit just the day before it was perfect. Squirrels too. She looked over at the others – some tomatoes, some blackberries, some raspberries, some gooseberries. Yes, they were growing well. After all, she grew them with all the love she could muster.
After that she expanded into more functional plants – things useful for medicine. Some borage – that was good for fevers, burdock for indigestion, chamomile to bring calmness when brewed into a tea. Comfrey, which could be chewed up into a poultice to treat wounds. During spring and summer she grew them, then during autumn she would carefully harvest and dry them down. Either into teas and infusions to drink over the colder months, or just stored in case she or her mate ever grew sick. It was good to be prepared. Out of the fruit she would do the same – drying some down for use in teas and otherwise cooking them down into jams over a nice fire.
As she stood in the soft morning light, the scent of greenery and life drifting all around her, Alianne smiled to herself. This place, this garden, was her quiet sanctuary. A moment of calm. A place to call home. Every blossom had been placed there by her. Every plant carefully nurtured. She didn't need grand adventures or noisy crowds. She had soil beneath her hooves, the rustle of leaves in the wind, and someone who understood her silence.
And for her, that was more than enough.
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