At the edge of the garden, past the wooden gate, Nori found something on the gravel.
A silver seed. She picked it up between her little paws and dug a small hole near the fence.
She dropped the seed inside and nudged dirt over it with her nose.
Each morning, Nori brought her thimble full of water and poured it onto the same spot.
She hummed a quiet tune and tapped the dirt — once, twice. Nothing stirred.
Day after day she came back with her thimble and waited.
She tapped the soil again. 'Soon,' she whispered.
Then she gasped — a thin silver stem pushed up, wrapped in a closed bud.
Her quills lifted all at once. She clapped her front paws together.
The bud peeled open, layer by luminous layer, into a great moonflower.
Inside the petals, a tiny silver creature blinked awake.
Nori watched, very still, as the creature curled against the flower's warmth.
