Growth

The very fringes of your land are… something else.

The blasted wastes that make up the majority of your land have little to offer. Though smothered and choked under layers of volcanic ash, and in some places still actively being rolled over by lava flows, life waits below. It’s waiting for such a long time, though! However, just weeks after the eruption, you started to notice the greenery of bordering lands beginning to creep into the desolation of yours, little sprouts probing the ash.

Now, a couple of months in, verdance has begun to wash in, though slowly. The featureless shore of ash has begun to erode, inch by inch, under blankets of wildflowers and tall grasses. Some flowers you’d scarcely even seen before in your neck of the woods, suddenly given the right conditions by the mineral-rich ashen soil to flourish in large numbers where they would otherwise have failed to take hold. Brilliant floral shades, like sunlight finally piercing through the veil of smog.

One morning, you find yourself drifting along the edges of your land again, the shadow of the ever-burning Mt. Serrat occluding the rising sun, instead wearing its light as a radiant crown. The wind hangs mercifully still, letting the sky clear and the ash settle. It’s… peaceful.

Your eyes dart from flower to flower, admiring each one. You’re not just here to look, though. You know Roan will be here soon, and you’ve perhaps gotten a little sick of not reciprocating his gifts. Just this once.

So, bit by bit, in your crude little basket that you wove yourself, you start a bouquet. You bend over, feeling the fragile stems and eyeing the petals for imperfections. Lilies, wild roses that survived the pyre, petunias and tulips, clusters of delicate yarrow… each time you find a suitably perfect flower to match your standards, you reach down to gently cut it free with a claw and gingerly place it among the others in your basket.

As the morning goes on, though, and the sun begins to peek over the mountain, you look down into your basket. A motley spread of meticulously chosen specimens… ugh. You can’t believe yourself. Did you really let yourself get charmed this much by some dumb human adventurer? You’re out here picking flowers, thinking about how eager you are to show off your hard work to him, wondering when he’ll arrive…

Yes. You did, and you are.

You place another flower among the lot, and decide that you’ve got a lovely bouquet. Certainly not professionally arranged; there’s absolutely no pattern, palette or purpose in the specific flowers you chose. You just picked whatever looked the prettiest, but you’re proud of your work.

Plopping down in the ash, you pick up the little piece of twine you’d prepared for this exact purpose and bind the stems as best you can, though the wild variation in the types of flowers makes it a little difficult to find a discernible ‘midpoint’… ah, well. Maybe you’ll just give him the basket, too.

You turn, looking again at the beginning of the greenery and the terminus of your wasted lands. It’s shocking, really, how quickly things have grown recently… little tree sprouts, flowers, grasses and weeds, all spilling over from the neighboring lands as a steady, creeping wave of green to wash away the ash. As you run your fingers through the soft bundle of flowers, as you take in the smell of them, you realize something…

Things started growing a lot faster once Roan started showing up.

Before you’ve got any time to interrogate that thought, your eyes snap to a human figure in the distance, unwisely trudging into your home. The sight sends a sharp spark of nervousness into your chest, that fizzles out to eager warmth. You lift yourself up to your feet, urging the ash out of your fur with some quick brushes that bear with them pulses of magma magic, and turn your gaze properly on the human intruder.

He’s here. Time to play off this incredibly sweet gift with as much aloofness as you can conjure. You start languidly strolling through the ash in his direction…