Lupa dragged her heavy roots across the cracked gray earth. Dust coated her leafy hair as she coughed.
She spotted a single green sprout trembling in a shadowed crevice. Gently, she cupped it with her wooden hands.
Lupa poured her last drop of rainwater from a hollow acorn onto the thirsty roots. The plant stood taller.
The ground beneath Lupa began to shake and rumble. Cracks spiderwebbed outward toward the gray horizon.
A warm breeze rustled her branches, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine instead of dust.
Lupa smiled, her bark crinkling at the edges. Wildflowers burst through the stone around her feet.
Petals drifted onto her shoulders, bright splashes of color against the gray surroundings. A new garden had begun.
The wasteland was no longer empty. Life returned, one small flower at a time.
