Starglow Basin i really tried to stay cool

while he searches fiamma bends down to the small sapling as if by breathing upon it she will stir further life into its fragile stalks; for verapaz’s sake, soto hopes so. 

he returns with a mouthful of tall grasses, their color bleached by the ruin of the season. fiamma’s words mean little but her expression is one of searching — placing the mat down alongside the little shoot of life, soto motions to it — and then turns to collect more. 

they work in scramble; before long a series of small piles rise. soto runs his paws along the stalks, thoughtful. most of the grasses are leached of their strength and a pale tan; it is not enough. 

looking around them, soto’s eyes fall on the stunted, warty bodies of the small trees dotting this landscape. he points to them and ranges near, sinking his teeth into their bladed branches with a grimace as he tears branch after branch off. 

these he brings one by one to their pile of deadfall. 

apprehensive, his gaze seeks fiamma’s with baited breath. 

that was only the easy part.