There were always crows circling above Maple Summers. They stole the late autumn blackberries as soon as they ripened, and picked scraps from the compost heap. 

From above, Maple Summers looked even smaller - just seven houses around a small strip of asphalt. The inhabitants had salvaged light bulbs and wires from the street lamps, but otherwise, the street was the same as it always was. 

Sam stayed inside watching the crows from the window. It was her window now. Paul had carted over a single bed that once belonged to Rachel, and someone produced an extra nightstand and desk from one of the other houses. None of it matched - the bed was white, with blue covers, the nightstand was painted yellow, and the desk was a shiny dark wood. But it was hers. 

In the afternoon, Quinn invited her on a foraging trip. “One last one before the snow gets here,” they said. 

Sam half wanted the snow to get here already so they could stop waiting for it. 

Hannah March met them outside, her black hair braided into tight cornrows, big cloth bag slung over one shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just sort of fell in line behind Quinn. 

“Alright, folks,” Quinn said as they approached the tree line. “Our priorities today are goldenseal, St. John’s wort, and milk thistle. Sam, you can hang with me until you know what to look for.”

They handed Sam a folding knife. Sam’s hand felt tingly holding it. Knives were useful for plenty of tasks, she knew that, but it felt like she was holding something explosive.

“Hey.” Quinn put their hand on her shoulder. “Should I hang onto that?”

Sam thought for a moment, then shook her head. She pocketed the knife. 

Hannah wandered off down some path only she could see, and Quinn went the other way, slowly scanning the forest floor. Sam found herself watching Quinn as much as the ground. They were in regular person mode, which was how Sam thought of them when they weren’t wearing their white coat. The coat made them look official and a little intimidating. Their hair was a sort of greyish brown and shaved on one side. They knew some complicated braiding styles Sam couldn’t quite follow.

“Over here,” Quinn said, crouching in the wet mush of fallen leaves. 

Sam bent down beside them. They were pointing at a yellow flower with thin wispy antennae. 

Quinn cut the flowers from their stems, adding to the rainbow of stains on their gloves. “I’m trying to grow these inside, cause they don’t like the cold very much. But true wild plants are finicky.” They deposited the flowers in their shoulder bag. “We got lucky already.”

Sam trailed behind as Quinn worked around to join Hannah. They were talking about a compound Quinn was working on, something about measuring one thing into another thing. Sam wasn’t sure how much she was missing because she’d never had schooling, and how much was just that complicated. 

As they walked, she was aware the prickly feeling in her chest might be considered something like jealousy. She wanted the easy camaraderie of Hannah and Quinn, walking in pleasant silences, pointing out interesting things to the other. It had been an awfully long time since Sam had allowed herself to want something. Sure, she had been jealous, constantly jealous of children with parents and bedrooms and nice clothes. But to want that for herself, well, why bother with impossible dreams? 

On the other hand, it was hard to add to the conversation when she didn’t really know what a stamen or a pollinator was. She was, Sam thought to herself, a rather boring child. 

She did pay close attention to what Hannah and Quinn were collecting. Besides the St. John’s wort, they cut what thistles they could find, and a plant with big leaves and tiny red fruits that they called goldenseal. Neither of them found much, but what they did find excited them much more than Sam would expect. Obviously this stuff was important.

Sam lingered behind, just in case the two of them missed something. And finally there it was — a little bit of red from the edge of a crack in a rock. Goldenseal.

The crack was a little more than that on closer inspection. It was some sort of tear in the earth, about Sam’s height across and too deep to easily calculate. The goldenseal was just a little ways down on one side, clinging to the rock.

Sam got down on her stomach and reached down. A few rocks tumbled down, but she felt secure enough. Only she couldn’t quite reach. Quinn and Hannah had been collecting goldenseal from the leaves down, so she needed those. She got on her knees and reached further.

Of course the moss was slippery, and the leaning out made it easy to fall. Of course she fell.

The tumble was disorienting and fast. Sam’s limbs moved on their own to try to catch her, and she landed hard on her hip and hand. She heard and felt the snap as her wrist gave way, and she rolled off it and held it close. The pain was screaming red and all encompassing for what felt like an age. She must have screamed. She wasn’t sure.

She wouldn’t be able to climb back up with her wrist broken. Sam breathed deep and hard, pushing the pain away from her thoughts. There were things to be done. 

“Sam!”

Above her, not as high as she expected, Quinn’s face peered over the edge.

“Are you alright?” they asked.

A wave of embarrassment washed over Sam. “Broke my wrist,” she called back.

“Right.” Quinn was too far away to read their expression. They disappeared back behind the edge.

The pain and the roar of her heartbeat and blood-rushing adrenaline made it hard to think. Sam looked around the bottom of the ravine as she waited. Astonishingly, there was the goldenseal crumpled on the ground. Sam pocketed it.

It was impossible to keep time, but eventually Quinn reappeared and dropped a rope with a loop on the bottom.

“Put your foot in the loop and pull it tight. Say when you’re ready.”

Sam tugged the loop closed and held white knuckled tight with one hand. “Ready,” she called.

The rope swung and Sam’s stomach rolled with it, and her knuckles scraped on the wall as she was pulled upwards. At the top Quinn grabbed her under her armpits and hauled her the rest of the way. Hannah stood a ways back with the other end of the rope, which was wrapped around a sturdy tree. 

“Alright.” Quinn got Sam to her feet. “Let’s go set this wrist.”

Sam stayed quiet as she followed Quinn back out of the woods. Hannah stayed behind to finish their work. On the porch she finally remembered.

“Quinn,” she said, reaching into her pocket. When Quinn turned around she held out the sad looking plant.

Quinn was not as happy as Sam had hoped. She stepped back a little. 

“Let’s get you fixed up and then we’ll talk,” Quinn said.

They went around to Quinn’s new little shed office, lit at strange angles by the sunlight from the huge window. Quinn patted a stool and turned to their shelves of things.

Sam tried to ignore the loud, insistent pain as she waited. Quinn poured something thick and purple into a little cup and handed it to her.

“It tastes fine,” they said before going back to looking for stuff.

The medicine tasted strangely sticky and sweet, with the faintest ghost of grapes somewhere in there. 

Quinn sat down on a stool in front of her. “It’ll take a bit for that to kick in. For the pain.” They held out their hand. “Let’s see it.”

Sam put her busted hand in Quinn’s. They cocked their head, then reached for two little wooden sticks and a roll of bandage. Sam winced as they straightened her wrist.

The pain was dulling by the time the splint was finished to Quinn’s satisfaction. Sam braced herself for the talk Quinn had promised.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall.”

“I’d be pretty damn worried if you meant to fall.” The bitter edge to their voice made Sam’s spine go tense.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, looking down at the unbroken hand in her lap. 

Quinn sighed. “Sam, look at me.”

Sam obeyed.

“I’m not mad. Alright? Accidents happen. I wish you hadn’t leaned over a ravine, but I’m not mad.”

Sam examined the splint. It was very tidy, her wrist immobilized but still somehow not too uncomfortable. “I’ll do more work when it heals,” she said.

They sat in a strange, unpleasant silence. 

Quinn sighed again. “I’m going to go make some food.”

Sam stayed on her stool. The light was already dim, winter days still getting shorter. The office smelled like rubbing alcohol and wet plant matter. 

Shame, said the voices in her head. Shame on you using up resources. Being foolish. What’s one plant compared to all these bandages? In some ways it was scary that Quinn didn’t yell. That they insisted everything was fine. When would she push too far? Sam wasn’t sure, and that mystery terrified her.