Work Text:
The bank of the stream is crumbling, the rushing waters carrying away clumps of soil.
The rains have come heavier than usual this season, making the path treacherous, erosion threatening to take away too much.
Right now, it is incovenient but not dangerous to the village, the main road far enough away. This offshoot leads further up the mountain, past their home. So they do this on their own.
'This' being piles of cut willow branches tall enough for Wu Xie to hide behind laughing, dodging a clump of grass Panzi slings at him for some smart remark. Xiaoge is not sure what exactly provoked that, has tuned out the chatter amidst the rythm of their work.
Knee-deep in the water, braced between two rocks to steady himself against the current, he pushes the fresh green stalks deep into the mud right where the water hits the soil. They shiver like a cats whiskers, but hold firm enough to take the next bundle from Wu Xie and begin weaving horizontally inbetween.
Bend them in, back and forth like a big basket taking shape along the waterline, holding the vertical stakes in place. Pangzi stomps dirt back into the gap behind the spiling, shoring up the riverbank.
As Xiaoge works to weave the next layer up, the earthy green scent of willow rises all around him. These branches are freshly cut, still alive. Within days, they will start to root into the riverbank, holding even firmer than than the basketweave he is achoring into the mud. At the end of the season, this living fence will hold the path more securely than any rocks could. It has been a little while since he has made any baskets, but these long, curving mats are easy, the repetitive movements as soothing as meditation or sword forms.
Maybe he even feels kindship. Willow regrows when cut again and again. Even separated from the tree, just pushed in the dirt like this it will grow strong roots and hold against the rush of water, protecting the path to their home. Alive and striving towards the sunlight dappling through after the clouds are finally swept down the mountain. Bending against the pressure, springing back instead of breaking. Like maybe giving small parts of himself away is not a bad thing, when those things are allowed to take root, protect his home, nourish his family.
Instead of wood and wire to rot and rust, this fence will sprout leaves to make tea for the headaches of a scholar that forgets he needs glasses to read, to feed any of the livestock Pangzi has been loudly pondering in the last few weeks. Will grow more willow branches that maybe Xiaoge can make actual baskets from, to replace the brittle old containers in the kitchen's storeroom. Maybe he can even plant another willow fence around their garden, take his time to weave a beautiful crosshatch lattice that will graft together with time, until he cannot see where one branch ends and the next begins.