“It feels wrong,” he said, gripping the tractor’s steering wheel.
“It’s working,” Lena whispered, sniffing the air like a wolf.
Within a week, the mustard exploded. Not like a crop—like a conquest. The seedlings were aggressive, broad-leaved, a carpet of deep green that swallowed weeds whole. Within a month, the field was a sea of brilliant yellow flowers, humming with a fury of bees. It was beautiful, and it hurt Silas to mow it down at its peak.