The briny scent of the sea invaded Abby's senses as she ran over the trimmed grasses of the house's expansive lawn. Lucy was at her heels, enjoying the chase, watching the last hints of sun down caress the girl's hair with fingertips of fire, staining it a warm amber.

Her lungs burned as she ran through the trimmed shrubberies of the formal garden, prickly bushes shaped like lions roaring as she flew past them, thick manes of yellow leaves rustling in her wake. Marble statues of men and women, weathered and moss-covered, dappled the garden, watching with cool gazes as Abby's heels clicked over the smoothed grey stone pathway. They smiled at her with their angled mouths, their shadows spilling out over the path and mimicking oil slicks- ones that made for delightful summer naps.

Right before the hill where the grove was, sat an oval lake that always glowed blue come nightfall. The first hints of its colorful glimmer clung to the mist that rose off the water's surface, the lake in the early thralls of a most enchanting spell. Abby rushed along over the lake's arched bridge, her hurried footfalls punctuating her excitement as the first hints of Laos crept into view.

"Ho- hold up!" a voice yelled.

Abby whirled around to see Crum hunched over and gasping for breath in the middle of the formal garden, his hair slick and shiny with sweat reminding Abby of a handful of slimy eels. She chuckled at the new, disheveled and red-faced Crum she'd never before seen, and then turned back around and continued her run.

"Catch me if you can!" she yelled back, finding enjoyment in the exhaustion she felt in her aching muscles.

She always felt alive when she ran, fire burning in her lungs, breaths escaping her without replacements. Running brought a smile to her face, especially when there was something worth running toward.

As she crested the hill, more and more of the city of Laos revealed itself. Pausing to catch her breath before her climb grew too steep, she eyed the eroding sandstone structures of the massive port with a loving gaze.

Thousands of white lights sparkled like diamonds in the distance, hung from every boardwalk and rooftop in the city; a tiny star-scape that draped over the port, making residents and visitors alike feel as though they'd found a piece of heaven on earth.

Abby turned her attention back toward the grove, finding a pair of golden eyes peering out at her through the darkness. She stopped, Lucy stumbling into her calves at the abruptness.

"What is it love?" he meowed. "Why'd you stop? We haven't yet reached Simon."

The girl ignored the cat's meow, holding her gaze on that familiar pair of gold eyes. A few yards further up the hill, another cat with fur as rich and opaque as the night stood in front of her, a small green snake wriggling in its mouth.

"Sebbi," Abby whispered, hands squeezing at the lace trim of her dress, desperately trying to calm the aching that had settled in her chest.

It had been weeks since she'd last seen Lucy's brother, though she'd heard about him plenty from the oral reports Mrs. Seiver had delivered to her father, aggravated lectures about the cat terrorizing her herb garden, digging up newly planted seeds and feasting on the tender blades of maturing sea-grasses.

Both cats looked similar with their black fur and gold eyes, though they had one distinct physical difference; Lucy had a patch of white nestled between his eyes that always made Abby think of a waning moon. Sebbi, on the other hand, was completely black, not a single speck of white anywhere; creatures of the moon and night sky respectively.

Their personalities, however, couldn't have been more opposite. Where Lucy openly sought out the adoration of humans, Sebbi couldn't have cared less. Instead, he took to torturing them the only way a cat could, digging up gardens, attacking drapes and fine linens, and knocking over the dusty heirlooms of Abby's ancestors.

But no matter how troublesome Sebbi was, one thing would never change-- he was Abby's cat and she would always love him just as much as she loved Lucy. She only wished that someday, the cat would love her back.

"What's that?" Crum asked between gasps for breath as he closed the gap between himself and Abby.

She stared at the sweat-drenched boy, his pointed face framed by hair resembling dead eels. He looked like he'd just work the hardest he ever had in his life, and honestly, he probably had. 

I almost feel bad for whoever marries that, Abby thought.

"Well?" Crum said, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground as he poked Abby in the shoulder.

She swatted his hand away like it was a swarm of dung flies. "He's not a that," she said, jabbing Crum in the gut. "He's Sebbi. He's a cat, he's lovely, and he's mine."

She watched as Sebbi-- finally seeming to have noticed her-- released his captive, the little snake raising on its belly to give the cat a final hiss before slithering back into the woods.

Sebbi turned tail to follow suit, retreating into the shadows the wild Burla trees cast along the Tells' property line. Abby sighed as Sebbi disappeared, wishing the cat had stayed.

"What's this place?" Crum asked, walking past her, an elegant looking tweed long coat draped over the boy's frame.

His words snapped Abby from her thoughts and she continued behind Crum, eyeing the boy curiously as he played with something in his pockets.

"It's the persimmon grove," Abby said as the last hints of the sun fell prey to the night. "That's why there's trees," she added, splaying her arms wide above her head to really drive the sarcasm home.

Crum scoffed and rolled his eyes. "These don't look alive," he remarked, running his fingers along one of the tree's cracked, scarred trunks. "Are you sure they're even trees?"

"Yes," she huffed though she wasn't exactly confident in her response. "And they're not completely dead."

Abby found it hard to argue with Crum; anyone would have drawn a similar conclusion after seeing the barren, rotting trees of the grove.

They lacked vibrancy-- when at one time they may have held some-- taking on muted hues of browns and golds, disease ravaging their leaves. They never bore fruit and their branches grew gnarled and limp, dragging along the ground.

The grove had been Abby's mother's idea, one her father lamented but permitted because of a losing bet. Mimi often regaled Abby with stories of her mother and the grove, telling her of the stormy mornings where her mother, mud covered and completely soaked, would tend to the trees, plucking weeds and pruning branches.

They made jams and preserves come the late summer months when the fruits filled out and ripened, so many in fact that their underground storage almost burst at its seams with mason jars.

Abby tried to bring the trees back to their vibrant fruit yielding days, but she lacked the knowledge and the green thumb of her mother. No matter what she did, the trees stayed on the verge of death. So the girl resigned herself to keeping them company in their last days, hoping her presence provided them comfort as they passed from one plane to the next.

The tree closest to the edge of the property-- a particularly dead looking monstrosity-- had a name: Simon Ogretree. It was called this because of two reasons. Firstly, Abby had named him when she was younger and what better name for a persimmon tree could a four-year-old come up with other than Simon?

Secondly, the tree stood half as tall as the others and was stricken with a black lumpy fungus that grew up its trunk in staggered bunches, making the tree take on the visage of a grumpy old ogre.

Get it? Simon Ogretree.

Anyway, the tree looked abysmal, having only black leaves on the days it had any leaves, branches growing ever downward, ashamed and apologetic for their very existence.

Though Mr. Ogretree was frightful, Abby loved it the most and when she visited the grove, she picked it to sit under, daydreaming what it would have been like to grow up with a mother.

Her mind would place her beside her mom in the grove, helping her water the trees or prune their leaves, running through them, chasing her mother's skirts as delicate laughter escaped both their lips.

Sometimes, she'd imagine her mother reading her stories of pirate kings and glory seekers under the night sky, rubbing the girl's head until she fell asleep.

As a family, Abby imagined shared picnics and laughter, the girl finally getting a glimpse of the man her father had been before he'd lost his wife. But all of that was simple dreaming, intangible and fleeting.

Abby knew that her reality was much colder; her mother was dead and would never come back. And just like her mom, the grove --that her mother had cherished-- was dying, destined to be yet another phantom forever out of reach of Abby's hands.

The girl flicked her sadness away as she approached Simon, forcing a smile to her lips. She curtsied toward the old tree before settling underneath him, placing Mimi's shawl around her shoulders to prevent the wind from chilling her core.

Crum stood next to her, poking at the tree with curious fingers, unable to decide if Simon was just half-dead or mostly-dead.

"Why do you have such useless trees littering your grounds?" he asked, peeling a piece of Simon's diseased bark off the trunk as tiny fire ants fled, retreating into the deeper recesses of the tree.

"This is my favorite place," Abby said, gazing at the lit up port.

The ocean seemed content that night, docile waves gently lapping against the docks, lulling the anchored ships into a peaceful slumber.

"My dad just ignores the grove, as if doing so will somehow make it disappear."

Abby gasped in surprise; she didn't know why she let those last words escape her, or why she let them fall on Crum's ears. Embarrassed, she looked up at the night sky, a fragile grin resting on her face.

"The trees are dying," she whispered. "You're right about that."

Crum stumbled backwards in shock. He'd never seen Abby look so forlorn, so distant, her happiness chased from her face. He grew antsy, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, unable to find words suitable for the situation.

Abby, having sensed Crum's discomfort, smiled more and shook her head; she wasn't looking to him to have the remedy for what ailed her.

"But wanting them to just disappear?" she continued. "I think that's kind of cruel. I don't think anyone should be alone when they die."

"They're just trees," Crum mumbled, running an elegant hand through his hair. Even as sweat-caked octopus tentacles, it looked adorable. Abby flashed him a smile.

"And you're just a sack of horse dung," she retorted, a gentleness in her words. "But still, if you had no one, I would be there for you."

Crum smiled. "Yeah, to kick me in the crotch."

Abby released a soft chuckle into the air. It was gone just as quickly as it had come, Crum unable to put that laughter to memory- the first time he'd been able to coax a chuckle from the girl he adored.

"I'm always good for that," Abby said. Crum nodded in agreement, and the lifelong enemies exchanged a rare, pleasant moment between themselves that didn't involve a pair of ivory slippers. 

*Press that star for Mr. Simon Ogretree. He's terribly lonely, wooden you know. ^-^*