{"id":6782,"date":"2026-10-21T09:00:00","date_gmt":"2026-10-21T13:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/?p=6782"},"modified":"2026-10-19T15:18:14","modified_gmt":"2026-10-19T19:18:14","slug":"through-the-deadlands-part-ii-the-mission-of-an-archer","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/2026\/10\/21\/through-the-deadlands-part-ii-the-mission-of-an-archer\/","title":{"rendered":"Through the Deadlands, Part II: The Mission of an Archer"},"content":{"rendered":"
This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series Through the Deadlands<\/a><\/div>\n
By Rebecka Jones, Staff Writer
<\/h5>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s over for us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

All those days scavenging for food and water in the city, the late nights spent making sure my sister and I were safe inside the barn, and the tiring journeys I took to find us a new home were all for nothing. We even pushed our bodies to the brink of unconsciousness as we ran away from the mob of radiotoxic zombies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now I\u2019m standing before death. He\u2019s not a shadow hiding beneath a cloak and holding a scythe, but a woman with ivory skin and jet-black hair falling past her shoulders, hooded chestnut eyes and pink lips downturned into a scowl, clothed in a frayed white tank top and dirtied cargo pants. Death is a human with defined arms pulling back a bowstring, fingers grazing the nock of an arrow that is pointed directly at my nose.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Wait\u2026a human?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

The heaviness in my chest vanishes as I look into the woman\u2019s alluring eyes\u2014no yellowness or throbbing veins in the whites of her eyes, no red patches on her glowing skin besides the marks of faded scars, and I detect no erratic movements from her body. She is still, upright, and fully prepared to kill me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe a zombie might\u2019ve been the better way to go.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJayden?\u201d My sister\u2019s voice is a squeak behind me. I nearly jump at the reminder she is right here, about to face the same fate as I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman seems to discover Sylvia\u2019s presence, too. Moonlight fills her eyes, her lips parting and shoulders dropping ever so slightly. The arrow is suddenly pointed at my feet, but the bowstring is no longer drawn back as the woman lowers her arms. Her head tilts to the side, as if she were taking in our presence and coming to the same conclusion: other humans, other \u2026 survivors.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHi,\u201d I blurt out because I have no idea what to say. What does<\/em> one say when they find out they\u2019re not the only humans still alive after spending forever alone on this wasteland that used to be called Earth? Maybe something more dignifying than a simple hi<\/em> that sounded as if my vocal cords were broken, but that is what my mouth goes with. Now I want to throw myself back into the barn and let the zombies eat away at my pathetic brain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman\u2019s eyes find mine again. They narrow into slits as she takes a step closer. My heart starts pounding in my throat as she lifts her hand. I prepare for her to do something\u2014slap me, punch me, stab the arrow into my eye\u2014because I\u2019m a fool. A fool for not protecting Sylvia well enough, for leaving her in an abandoned barn for days at a time when those horrible creatures could\u2019ve attacked her as they did to us tonight, and for bringing her out into this forsaken, toxic forest where we are just as vulnerable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

However, the woman surprises me by pinching my chin between her thumb and pointer finger and moving my head left to right. Her fingers are warm and rough, but they send shivers through my entire body. Why I allow her to examine me as if I am a lamb to the slaughter, I have no idea. All I know is that I cannot afford to make another stupid move and ruin my chance of befriending another survivor\u2026one who could help us find a home.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sylvia, on the other hand, lets her curiosity win. I hear her feet shuffle as she steps out from behind me. \u201cWho are you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman breaks contact with me, and my lungs can finally retrieve air again as her fingers fall away from my face. Of course, now my body is rigid as the woman approaches my sister, crouching down to her level. That isn\u2019t very far, considering Sylvia has grown several feet in the last year or so. I remember when she wouldn\u2019t grow past my belly button, but now she\u2019s to my chin.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I clear my head from the memory, watching as the woman examines Sylvia next, though she doesn\u2019t use the same tactics as she did on me. Rather, she just stares at the little girl, at her matted brown curls and fraying lavender sweater. Then her lips do something I didn\u2019t think was possible after knowing this terrifying woman for two minutes: they turn upward, showing dimples on her rosy cheeks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She then reaches into the top pocket of her cargo pants. My heart drops, and my feet move to insert myself between the two of them until the woman pulls out crinkled plastic. With the smile still planted on her face, she hands the unidentifiable object to my sister. The moonlight reflects off the plastic, revealing the Hershey\u2019s logo. My breathing returns to normal.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cChocolate?\u201d Sylvia gasps, her fingers curling around the wrapper, pulling it off to uncover the brown bar underneath. \u201cWhere did you find this?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Instead of responding, the woman stands up and lowers the top half of her body so that her torso is parallel to the ground and her bow and arrow are reaching for the stars. Is she\u2026bowing?<\/em> Sylvia widens her eyes, her joy transforming into a brief moment of confusion before she shrugs and bites into the chocolate bar, a little satisfied sigh escaping her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not so easily convinced, so I give the woman a look I hope is somewhat threatening and reiterate my sister\u2019s first question. \u201cWho are<\/em> you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Those dark eyes find mine, her lips now pressed into a thin line. Don\u2019t like me, got it.<\/em> She also responds to me with silence, but this time she waves her arm towards her torso in a beckoning gesture before turning around and walking towards the shadows. The trees swallow her up, the only sign of her presence being the fading crackling of leaves as she walks further and further away from us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t know who<\/em> this woman thinks she is, but I am not<\/em> following her into the dark forest after she pointed an arrow at my face and gave my sister a suspicious bar of chocolate. I\u2019m about to make my thoughts known to the dead trees until Sylvia starts following the woman\u2019s path into the woods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSylvia, what do you think\u2014\u201d I grab for my sister\u2019s wrist, but she jumps to the side and causes me to almost stumble into decaying grass.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf you think I\u2019m not going to see what she\u2019s up to,\u201d my sister speaks through a mouthful of chocolate, some of it painted on her lips. \u201cYou\u2019re wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe don\u2019t know her!\u201d I keep my voice low so the woman can\u2019t hear, but clear and flat enough for Sylvia to understand my distaste for her idea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister narrows her eyes. \u201cShe\u2019s the only other survivor out here besides us,\u201d Sylvia explains to me slowly, like I\u2019m not almost a decade older. \u201cI trust her over the zombies at the barn.\u201d With that, she turns away from me and heads for the trees. She doesn\u2019t wait for me to object.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIf she turns out to be a maniac, you\u2019re in big trouble,\u201d I grumble, forcing my shaking legs into the shadows of the dead forest.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"\"
A deadly haze looms over the soot-infested forest. | Johanna (Pexels)
<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
\n\n\n\n

Maybe a maniacal killer doesn\u2019t start a cozy fire for you and hand you a blanket to curl up in while she warms up canned soup for you, but the silence is starting to freak me out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman still hasn\u2019t said a word. She\u2019s been heating up our food over the fire in complete silence. No introduction. No explanation of why she\u2019s helping us. Not even a little grunt of acknowledgement that we\u2019re there. At this point, I can\u2019t tell if she\u2019s just shy or doesn\u2019t speak our language. She did<\/em> look like someone from another country\u2026perhaps somewhere in Asia.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The only sound in this dark clearing is the faint crackling of the fire and the bubbling liquid from boiling soup. I hear the wind whistling in my ear and my heart thumping against my ribcage. My sister is also watching the woman, her lips slightly parted, and her head tilted to the side. Her breaths escape her slowly now compared to when we ran into the woman, and her shoulders aren\u2019t as tense.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m still on edge. I don\u2019t know what to expect from this woman who nearly shot an arrow through my head and is now making us food.<\/em> What\u2019s next? Is she going to threaten to break my arm, then hand me a lollipop?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The silence becomes too loud, so I force myself to break it. I get up from the warmth of the blanket and walk up to the fire, the cold air pressing against my back. \u201cIt\u2019s time you start answering our questions.\u201d When the woman doesn\u2019t break her gaze from the soup, I keep pressing. \u201cFor all I know, you could be planning to kill us while we sleep.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I might\u2019ve been laying it on a bit thick, but I don\u2019t regret it after finally getting a reaction out of her. A sigh escapes her mouth as steam rises from the low temperature. She turns her gaze on me, those dark eyes wandering over my face. Her brows furrow, but the reflection in her eyes tells me she isn\u2019t angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She suddenly raises a hand, tapping her throat with her index finger and shaking her head. My head is clouded with confusion for a moment before it clicks, and I feel like an idiot once more, a very\u2026inconsiderate<\/em> idiot.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou can\u2019t speak,\u201d I answer in a hushed voice. When the woman nods, my chest fills with heaviness. I can\u2019t stop my mind from wandering to how lonely that must be for her, especially being trapped in this horrible place. She\u2019s all by herself trying to navigate from wasteland to wasteland, unable to communicate with anyone or even herself. She\u2019s stuck in silence, all the thoughts kept inside her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWait, you can\u2019t talk?\u201d My sister\u2019s voice breaks in, suddenly right beside me. Her eyes are two big orbs. \u201cAre you mute?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cSylvia, that\u2019s not how\u2014\u201d I begin, but the woman raises a hand. I shut up immediately when she waves the comment away, then she looks at my sister and nods.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I almost want to throttle my sister when she throws her arms around the woman\u2019s middle and pulls her into a hug. A look of shock flashes across the woman\u2019s wide eyes, but then she\u2019s melting into the embrace, and I decide to remain quiet. This seems like a good moment for silence, less awkward than the silence from a few minutes ago.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI\u2019m so sorry.\u201d Sylvia\u2019s voice is muffled against the woman\u2019s tank top, but I can still hear it shake and crack. \u201cI wish you could talk. I bet you\u2019d have a beautiful voice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A smile forms on the woman\u2019s lips, and she pulls away from my sister. She puts her fingertips to her chin, then moves her hand forward and downward towards Sylvia. I don\u2019t need to be an ASL expert to know that means thank you.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sylvia and the woman seem to exchange a friendly gaze after that, so I figure I should express my sympathy as well. \u201cI\u2019m also sorry,\u201d I say softly. \u201cThat must be hard for you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman turns to me and gives me a slight nod, which is all I can ask for at the moment. She seems to have found it easier to warm up to my sister than to me. Understandable. People never really warmed up to me easily; I guess I have that effect on everyone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCan we know your name?\u201d my sister asks. \u201cI\u2019m Sylvia, and this is my brother Jayden.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m not sure how we\u2019re even supposed to communicate with this woman. If she can\u2019t tell us her name, I don\u2019t think we\u2019re getting any answers about a safe place to stay. My chest aches at the thought. I had been searching all these months\u2014even left my sister behind at the barn\u2014to look for a home on this lonely, decaying earth. Actually coming across another survivor is more than an accomplishment\u2014it\u2019s our only hope of survival. But how can this woman help us if we can\u2019t communicate?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The woman seems to read the look on my face because she grabs a fallen tree branch and uses it as a pencil on the dirt. She writes each letter delicately, tracing the curves of what seems to be an \u201cm\u201d and an \u201cr\u201d and the line of an \u201ci\u201d. When she finally steps away, my sister and I both inspect the word written in the black dirt, lit up by the crackling fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cMe\u2026ray?\u201d My sister attempts, her head tilted. A series of short gasps escape the woman\u2019s mouth, and I look to see her slightly doubled over with her mouth open in a smile. Sylvia\u2019s pink cheeks turn a shade of magenta. \u201cWhat\u2019s funny? Did I say it wrong?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I stare at the letters again. I\u2019d never seen a name so beautifully spelled. \u201cMirae.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looks at me and nods, the smile fading but the light in her eyes still bright. It may be no big deal to learn someone\u2019s name, but it feels like a milestone for Sylvia and me, and especially for this woman. We\u2019ve gone many months without seeing life out here, not counting the plants that have survived the explosion, so finally having another name to talk to is refreshing. I wonder if the same goes for her\u2014if she had been searching for survivors all alone. Most of all, I wonder how important it must be for her to communicate with people who are trying to understand her. Did she ever have someone willing to be patient and learn how she communicates?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I know I want to try,<\/em> so I throw out another question that\u2019s been nagging me since Mirae brought us out here. \u201cDo you know of a better place we can go? We were run out of our shelter by those things\u2026<\/em>\u201d I trail off for a moment, remembering those bulging eyes full of hunger and bony fingers reaching out for me, and I shudder. \u201cWe\u2019re hoping another survivor could help us. Maybe you\u2019re looking for the same?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae\u2019s eyes glaze over, as if she were deep in thought, trying to figure out a way to talk to us. Then she looks back to the dirt and begins writing\u2014no, drawing<\/em>\u2014some sort of image. I notice a stick figure standing beside a large box with a circle coming out of the top. An arrow starts at the circle and goes upwards towards another circle surrounded by stars. After a long moment of me staring at the drawing, Mirae writes \u201cgrandfather\u201d above the stick figure, then labels the box as \u201cspace station\u201d and the circle with the stars as \u201cMars\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHold on,\u201d I start, the gears turning in my head. \u201cAre you explaining that you have a grandfather who is at this space station, which seems to be sending these circular pods up to Mars?\u201d The idea sounds ridiculous, but I don\u2019t know how else to comprehend the picture. It would be impossible to have the technology to travel into space, especially after the nuclear explosion fried the wires and engines of every vehicle we\u2019ve come by. Also, when did scientists figure out how to travel to Mars? I\u2019d only heard from the news that they were sending rovers to space to see if the planet was inhabitable, but never that they began sending actual people<\/em> to Mars. Something wasn\u2019t adding up here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae nods, and I almost want to laugh. But she starts drawing another circle, this one which has curvy shapes inside it. She then draws an \u201cX\u201d over it and makes an arrow from it to Mars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThat\u2019s Earth!\u201d Sylvia chimes in. \u201cYou put an \u2018X\u2019 on it because we can\u2019t live here anymore, so we have to go to Mars.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The idea still appalls me, but I can\u2019t stop my heart from dropping to my stomach and filling me with queasiness. I know the explosion had destroyed most of the Earth and left it in a dark, toxic winter, but was there really no way to restore it so we could at least breathe the air again? Was it so bad that humanity had to colonize a planet it once thought was uninhabitable?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cHow do you expect us to even use<\/em> these pods and get to Mars?\u201d I ask. \u201cThe explosion destroyed all the engines, so anything motorized won\u2019t start.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae shakes her head. \u201cProtected from blasts,\u201d she writes in the dirt. Then she draws a bigger circle around the pod, labeling it \u201ccopper shield\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cCopper protects the engine?\u201d I question, to which Mirae nods. Her confirmation doesn\u2019t ease the anxiety prickling in my veins. \u201cDo you really believe going to Mars is our best option?\u201d Mirae nods a third time, but I\u2019m still not convinced. \u201cHow do we know if there are people already on Mars? This could all be fake.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae sighs and taps her chest. Sylvia raises an eyebrow. \u201cYou\u2026?\u201d The woman shakes her head and palms the left side of her chest. \u201cOh, your heart!\u201d Sylvia exclaims.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou just know with your heart,\u201d I say with a loud breath, which earns me a look from Mirae. She looks at the dirt again and circles the stick figure. \u201cI get it, you trust your grandfather. That\u2019s completely reasonable, but I still don\u2019t believe this. There has to be a safer place for people to go.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cJayden,\u201d Sylvia starts, her round eyes narrowed in sincerity. \u201cWe\u2019ve been searching for survivors for months, and now we\u2019ve finally bumped into one. There might not be anybody else who could help us as she can, so Mirae is the only person we can trust right now.\u201d She looks at the woman, and a heavy look fills my sister\u2019s eyes. \u201cI choose to go to an unknown place rather than stay here a second longer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe need to find more oxygen tanks,\u201d I blurt. \u201cWe\u2019ve been exposed to the toxic air for too long. It\u2019s messing with our senses.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNo!\u201d My sister shouts, and I freeze. \u201cThose masks are useless! Mirae hasn\u2019t been wearing one, and she isn\u2019t a zombie.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe can\u2019t trust her!\u201d I counter. \u201cShe could be leading us to our deaths. You know better than to trust strangers, Sylvia.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My sister huffs at me. \u201cShe\u2019s not a stranger. She\u2019s another survivor like us, trying to find a way out of here. I\u2019ll follow her anywhere.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I open my mouth to respond, but I quickly press my lips together because I know it\u2019s hopeless. When Sylvia is set on something, arguing with her is like trying to move a boulder\u2014it won\u2019t budge. She\u2019s been that way since the day she was born, always set on what toy she\u2019s playing with or what food she won\u2019t be eating. It may seem like simple stubbornness, but I know my sister has a reason for being that way\u2014she truly believes in what she\u2019s doing. She never does things half-heartedly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If she really believes Mirae might be our only hope in getting out of here, even if that means finding a suspicious space station that is supposedly going to have odd-shaped space pods that are going to take us to a potentially inhabitable Mars, then I have no other choice but to trust her. Heck, there never was any other option besides wearing oxygen masks and traveling for days to find a shelter and pray I won\u2019t run into another zombie.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If this mission to Mars is what will save us, then all those days I\u2019ve spent journeying through decaying forests and collapsing cities were for nothing. I guess it\u2019s better to live with that failure than to keep hoping for a better solution that may never come, even if I hate the thought of putting my trust in a woman who almost speared me the second we met.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

With all the energy left in me, I sigh. \u201cFine, but how are we supposed to find this space station?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae points to something over my shoulder, and I turn and look past the colony of soot-infested trees and towards the dark peak rising above the haze. My throat tightens when I look at her again, then back to the landmark in the distance, confirming that she is pointing at what I think she\u2019s pointing at.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cThe mountain?\u201d I rasp, nearly out of breath just by looking at it. \u201cIs that where the space station is?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Mirae shakes her head, then writes in the dirt. \u201cOutlook.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cYou think we\u2019ll see it from the mountain?\u201d When she nods, I feel like I can\u2019t breathe. This is really going to happen. I\u2019ve gone through so many journeys trying to get to that mountain, yet I didn\u2019t have the ability to climb it because of my oxygen tank and partly because I was afraid. Now we\u2019re actually going, and I\u2019m not wearing the mask\u2026but I am still afraid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don\u2019t even know if we\u2019re going to survive the trek. What if the mountain is too rocky for us to climb and we fall? What if the haze gets to us and we are driven to insanity? Anything could happen, but that doesn\u2019t stop us from rising up early the next morning and beginning our journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A journey that could cost us our lives.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

This entry is part 2 of 2 in the series Through the Deadlands<\/a><\/div>

By Rebecka Jones, Staff Writer It\u2019s over for us. All those days scavenging for food and water in the city, the late nights spent making sure my sister and I…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":11,"featured_media":6805,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_EventAllDay":false,"_EventTimezone":"","_EventStartDate":"","_EventEndDate":"","_EventStartDateUTC":"","_EventEndDateUTC":"","_EventShowMap":false,"_EventShowMapLink":false,"_EventURL":"","_EventCost":"","_EventCostDescription":"","_EventCurrencySymbol":"","_EventCurrencyCode":"","_EventCurrencyPosition":"","_EventDateTimeSeparator":"","_EventTimeRangeSeparator":"","_EventOrganizerID":[],"_EventVenueID":[],"_OrganizerEmail":"","_OrganizerPhone":"","_OrganizerWebsite":"","_VenueAddress":"","_VenueCity":"","_VenueCountry":"","_VenueProvince":"","_VenueState":"","_VenueZip":"","_VenuePhone":"","_VenueURL":"","_VenueStateProvince":"","_VenueLat":"","_VenueLng":"","_VenueShowMap":false,"_VenueShowMapLink":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"series":[72],"class_list":["post-6782","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-creative","series-deadlands"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6782","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/11"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6782"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6782\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6806,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6782\/revisions\/6806"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6805"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6782"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6782"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6782"},{"taxonomy":"series","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.imaginarygardens.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/series?post=6782"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}