He moved along the rectangle and pulled up the other three corner stakes one by one, calling the growth-tuned healing pattern back into his thoughts each time. With the etching tool, he traced the same invisible spiral into each stake, letting magic flow through the tip and sink under the surface while the wood remained smooth to the touch.
He kept his visualization steady while he worked, focusing on roots that recovered from strain, stems that straightened after wind, and leaves that pushed out new growth after stress instead of drooping in surrender.
By the time all four marked stakes had been driven back into place, the second bed felt like it sat inside an invisible frame of magic. The feeling was gentle, steady, and patient, without any sharp edges or lurching pulls that hinted at overreach or clumsy patterning.
For the third bed, he wanted something clearly different from that, something that leaned into toughness rather than eager growth, so he could actually compare them in a way that meant something.
He pulled the nearest stake from the third bed and balanced it across his palm while letting his eyes travel over the ruined field. Arthur had described the dry years often enough that Jacob barely needed imagination. Fields that sprouted just fine, then stalled when the rain did not return. Plants that stayed small and pale, that never fully died but never filled either, leaving thin harvests that barely paid for the seed and the labor.
This time, he focused the healing pattern on endurance rather than quick recovery. He wanted something that whispered to the plants that they could endure harsher days before wilting and that they could hold on longer when the topsoil cracked and the wind tried to strip every last scrap of moisture away from the roots.
In his thoughts, he took the usual healing spiral and stretched it carefully, spacing many of the lines farther apart while keeping the core intact. He removed the parts that urged fast change and quick knitting, leaving only the slow, persistent encouragement that said, "Keep going! Even when times get rough!"
Only when the image settled into a clear and stable form did he press the tip of the etching tool to the smooth top of the stake.
He guided the tool through the invisible lines with practiced care, letting the magic follow his will. The metal traced nothing that the eye could easily follow, yet he felt the pattern building with each pass, as warmth gathered under his fingertips and sank deeper into the wood. When he sealed the final curve, the enchantment woke slower and deeper than the previous version, like water that sat quietly at the bottom of a narrow well.
He felt the magic flow through him, and for a moment, he felt something within himself change. But the feeling faded as quickly as it had welled u,p and he turned his focus back on his work.
He added the strengthening enchantment to this pattern as well, fixing his visualization to try to make the enchantment work for both the stake and the plants, piggypacking off of the healing rune.
"Bed three gets the slow healer that teaches toughness instead of quick repair," he murmured, letting the words help fix the difference in his memory.
He repeated the stretched, endurance-focused pattern on the other three stakes for that bed, working methodically and checking each imagined line with his thumb afterward. The wood felt unchanged under his skin, yet every stake carried its own quiet weight of power.
By the time he pushed the last stake back into the soil, he could feel the distinction between the second and third beds whenever he stepped close, even though nothing visible marked the difference for ordinary eyes.
The second bed felt like a gentle hand encouraging growth whenever the plants tried, while the third bed felt like a quiet weight that refused to let things give up too early.
The fourth bed took longer to plan, both because water remained the clearest problem and because he wanted the enchantment to work with the land instead of fighting against it like a stubborn fool.
The east side did not enjoy the same help from natural runoff that the lower fields received, and when rain finally arrived, it rarely lingered. The ditch along the far side of the field carried whatever fell away in a hurry, dragging the effort of entire seasons down toward other properties that probably did not appreciate it any better.
Jacob walked to the uphill edge of his small grid once more and studied the subtle slope with narrowed eyes. After a thoughtful moment he fetched the short hoe and scraped a low ridge along the top of the fourth bed, just high enough to catch a little more of any water that might drift this way after a storm. Inside that ridge, he pulled a shallow basin into the soil with a few careful strokes, smoothing the center with his palm until it felt even and right.
So far he had changed nothing with magic at all, just the shape of the ground, which meant every farmer in the village would have understood this part without needing explanations.
He pulled up the nearest corner stake of the fourth bed and turned it slowly in his hand while he thought through the next pattern.
For this attempt, the enchantment needed to help with two different things at once. First, he still wanted healing, so the plants could bounce back after the strain of heat and dry spells, instead of staying wilted and stunted. Second, he wanted something that encouraged water to stay just a little longer when it arrived, enough to sink into the soil rather than racing away across the surface.
He thought about the cleaning rune he used on clothes, the one that encouraged grime and dust to lift and move away from the fabric in a steady peel. If he flipped that idea around, he could ask water to slow down and settle for a moment, rather than rushing away immediately when gravity pulled on it.
In his mind he wove that thought into the healing pattern, imagining the spiral spreading into the soil and slightly thickening it wherever the lines passed. He pictured droplets seeping into the ground with a little more willingness, giving roots extra time to drink instead of skimming over the surface and vanishing into the ditch that lined the edge of the field.
He began guiding the etching tool once the combined pattern felt stable in his head.
The metal tip traced the healing spiral first, then drifted into subtle arcs that called for steadiness in water and patience in plants. No visible groove appeared in the wood, yet the air near his hands prickled each time another piece of the pattern clicked into place. He moved carefully to avoid crowding the lines together in his imagination, since cramped instructions tangled far too easily inside living magic.
The catch was fitting the strengthening rune into the mix. This would have to be a proper enchantment, or he would have to change these stakes out as they wore themselves out by channeling the magic inscribed within them.
"Three-piece enchantments are a pain in the ass, but I think these three have a bit of resonance in them . . ."
When he guided the last invisible line into place, the pattern settled without exploding, and the magic that flowed outward carried a distinctly cool edge against his skin. The air over the bed felt unchanged to his nose and lungs, yet the soil beneath his boots suddenly suggested mornings where dew clung to the ground a little longer before surrendering to the sun.
'Success, now I have an additional proper enchantment . . .'
Jacob planted the stake again and walked the outline of the fourth bed, repeating the new three-piece enchantment on the remaining three corners. Each new enchantment made the feeling more even and complete, until the entire bed felt like a shallow bowl of attention that waited patiently for the first decent rain of the season.
"Bed four gets healing for stress and a little help with water, and I will use the same seed as the first bed," he said quietly, fixing the description in his memory where it could not easily blur.