It is shortly after dawn when Bif treads quickly into Milltown's soup kitchen. Caritas doesn't even look up from her first mug of honeyed tea as the tawny-haired boy bounds in.
"Yesterturn's leftovers are over there," she says with a gesture of her gnarled hand to the soup canisters in the corner. Bif offers a bright smile and a quick word of thanks before gathering up his supplies and departing just as quickly as he arrived.
"Bring them back to me washed, mind you!" The old woman raises her voice to call after the eager young Enchanter, before lowering it once again to mutter to nobody in particular, "Eee, love. To think our savings are going on feeding blummin' Gremlins." Caritas huffs a small laugh, blowing on her tea before taking a sip, "Just so long as he doesn't bring any of the blighters in here..."
***
After handing out his spoils at the Hollowed Tree, Bif leaves only to quickly return again with his second bundles of the turn. Over one skinny shoulder he carries a variety of rusted, old garden tools, all bound together in a dirty farmer's smock. While in his free hand, he swings a beaten up bucket.
"Right, chaps," announces Bif to the small gathering of uninterested Gremlins that linger outside slurping soup. "I've been hanging about too much, and I really ought to get down to business this turn." He nods quite seriously before bending to set down his bundles and unwrap his tools. A few of the Gremlins pause in eating and lift their muddy brown eyes to the strange and pointy implements as they are carefully laid out on the grass.
"First thing to do is pick a good spot. We can't plant too close to the tree, see?" rambles Bif to the Gremlins, who, as ever, don't reply. "The Hollowed Tree is still alive, so it'd sap all of the good stuff out of the soil and our little veggies wouldn't stand a chance. And it's awful big and will block out the 'rifter." The young Enchanter nods sagely before producing a few wooden stakes bound with string from his bucket and holding them up for the Gremlins' inspection. "These are to mark out our plot," he explains. Their attention at least seems to be piqued by the appearance of string...
Bif squints at the horizon, taking a moment to locate the 'rifter in the sky before taking a few calculated paces and pushing in his first stake. He marks out a large rectangular plot in the grass, stomping in the final stake with the heel of his boot. By the time Bif starts digging through the tough top turf, the warm spring 'rifter has risen fully and most of the Gremlins have returned to the cool of the Hollowed Tree's innards. All save for one scrappy looking specimen, who dozes on one of the shady branches outside, one skinny leg dangling and swaying languidly in the warm breeze.