BUN-256: Crème Bleuet

Seeds were oh so very small. Or perhaps he was just quite big, especially in his doll form, kneeling in the dirt, his new pajama pants (why had he decided to wear them again?) already stained. Sitting in the palm of his open hand, sat the little seeds. Hazeblooms, Hops had called them.  He hadn’t been listening very closely, though had certainly been trying. But he’d m...