The elven botanist walked along the central mossy aisle, pointing out slender living vines that pulsed with gentle green vitality.
Eirwen touched a vine and let the child watch it turn toward her finger before inviting her to try the same motion.
Beside her, the young child walked with careful steps, her curious eyes reflecting the soft glow of the hanging blossoms.
"These roots respond to ambient warmth and physical touch," the elder guardian explained, gesturing toward an unfurling spiral leaf.
"Yelling never makes a sprout grow faster, little one... plants flourish when they feel safe and nourished."
"Do they ever decide to stop growing?" the child asked, tilting her head as she watched a pale tendril sway.
"All the time," the elf chuckled softly, kneeling down so her eyes were level with the small girl.
"Seeds sleep in the dirt for years until the right season arrives, and nobody forces them to rush."
