A Seed A Day

Dove paced into the clearing, eyes scanning the forest around him for threats before coming to rest on cherry blossom trees surrounding. Pollen tickled his nose as petals fell, quiet and soft in the midday sun, and he felt the sneeze coming briefly before it actually happened. His eyes watered slightly, softening the sight before him only somewhat until he blinked, and his vision cleared. This was the third land he'd explored, though he had passed by a sort of hot springs, given away by the temperature of the water he'd stepped in shortly. But as soon as he'd seen the blush of these trees against the cerulean backdrop of the sky, he'd pressed forward to see what he would find.

What he found was destruction, voracious in its journey to consume all before it. Parched magma wove through the lands and around trees, and the heat ate easily through Dove's thick fur. He was certain to keep a good distance between him and the magma pools that he wasn't sure were as dried out as they seemed. He noted the trees that had fallen and now, stuck out of the rocks of previously fluid lava. A tree, with singes on it's bark, was cemented into the cooled remainders of what Dove was certain now had been a volcanic eruption at some point. It's branches, adorned by blackened and withered cherry blossoms, reached for the celestial sphere above as though the gods would spare it from a fate that had already been wrought.

"Here," he decided suddenly, his voice a quiet murmur on the soft wind. He would make his first, lonesome mark on the world here.

Renewed vigilance drove him, paws sinking into the hardened top layer of Redbud Nook as he sought out a clear, fertile spot that might aid in his quest. His gaze settled on a cheerless patch, and he drew a marker (a simple X) before setting out to find something to plant. It was nearly half an hour later that he found what he hunted, a prey of sorts. It was a small sprout, settled in a smattering of soil within the indentations of a boulder. The rock was rooted to the earth, an awkwardly fashioned seat, flat and rounded on one side, a dip in its surface, with a raised incline to the other. A tree sat over it, providing shade to the haphazard new growth that had chosen a poor nursery for it's advancement, as though it didn't realize that here, it would not grow. It would not blossom, and it would not become as large as the brethren surrounding. Here, death would find it sooner and more quickly than it could find water or nutrients in the soil below its dwelling, and as instinctual as nature could be, Dove was certain that, here, it would not survive.

Dove knew it as undeniably as he'd known that his father and brothers would eventually kill him with their plots and their intrigue. The moment his mother had left the world on the quiet, ominous coattails of death, Dove knew that his time was limited. He didn't believe that they'd been planning his death necessarily, but it was only a matter of time until one of them took it a step too far, only a matter of time before a stride that couldn't be retraced would be the end of him. And somehow, that realization had made what he'd endured for years to be closer to his mother much worse than it had been. Be kind to yourself, his mother had said, the words in her last moments clearer than the day that graced him and this land unknown around him. Be kind to yourself. And then, let your kindness fill the world.

He searched the ground, his gaze landing upon a leaf just big enough to hold the small sprout. Gently, so gently, he moved the sprout from it's mistaken home and onto the leaf, picked up both ends of it in his teeth, and carried it to what would hopefully be a more prosperous home for it. He set it on the ground, not far from the spot he'd marked, and set to digging. The heat that had scorched this land had done so deeply, and it was moments of digging before he finally touched fresh earth, soft and protected beneath the proof of the world's wrath. He dug a little more, enough to cover the sprout up to its leaves and allow a soft topsoil for it to grow. The plant secured in its new home, one that would be more amiable and sympathetic to its prosperity, Dove paced a ways to the small stream he'd passed, gathering water in his mouth before going back and letting it drizzle through his teeth over the new growth. Kindness, he reminded himself, is more than proprium.

It is not something that is required for proper growth, he knew, because his family had been anything but kind during his time with them. But it was something that made the unforgiving world a little bit easier to withstand.

He studied the sprout, making sure that he'd covered the bases needed, before he turned and padded the way he'd come.

[ [ Exit ] ]