Ned is back in his orchard. He has been here since Galen left, lost in a trance. He is sitting cross-legged on the grass, a froth of night-bloom flowers around him, hands buried a few inches into the soil, his whole attention focused on the trees. He is making them grow. There is a certain joy in it, losing all awareness of his own body, thinking only about the stretching branches, the apples growing heavier, the roots extending downwards into the earth. Ned doesn't notice the sun setting around him, is unaware of the sounds of insects and the noises from the nearby houses fading.

He is a sitting duck.