[Gift] CRÈME BLEUET PLANTS HIS SEEDS

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 mostly just been nodding along, delighted to be of service, distracted by the soft voice and just how cute the other bun was. 

But he’d come away from it with the seeds and the knowledge that they needed planting. A task he was determined to complete to the best of his ability.

So in the dirt he sat, seeds in one hand and a trowel in the other. In theory, it should have been easy. Dig a hole, put in the seeds, cover it up. But as he stuck the trowel in, it went a lot deeper than first expected. The soil was quite soft and had already been prepared for planting which meant when he dug in and up, everything immediately flicked up straight into his face.

 He blinked the dirt from his lashes.

Alright, attempt number two.

It would have been far easier if he had simply placed the seeds down and used two hands but he was loath to let go of the seeds, now they were nestled so comfortably in his hand. He curled his fingers protectively around them.

This time when he dug in with the trowel, he was softer, slower.

Trowel in, up and out. The dirt deposited to the side. 

A neat little hole remained, a bed for his seeds.

He placed the trowel aside and selected his first seed, gently plucking it up pinched between the forefinger and thumb. With loving care he placed it with the hole, admired it for a moment and then pushed the dirt back over, burying it in a soil blanket.

How marvelous to think that one day this seed would grow and bloom. A gift to the world. 

Would the plant remember him? 

Most would surely say plants had no sentience but who really knew. Maybe there was something there, that once touched by a kind hand, they remembered, in their own special way. It was a pleasant thought to imagine one day stroking his fingers across a leaf and for the plant to [i]know[/i] you had been there from the beginning.

He smoothed the earth slightly but not too much.

A quick shuffle to the side and the process could begin again.

Dig, place, bury. 

Down the line, leaving little mounds where the seeds were sleeping.

When he was done, they would need watering, to make sure they had the nutrients they needed. And after that, it was merely time. Time and patience.

“Grow up nice and strong,” he said as he planted the last seed and then rocked back on his heels, wiping his dirty hands together. His back ached pleasantly from the hard work. There was something so satisfying about getting your hands dirty and seeing a job well done.

Now that it was done, he changed forms. Downsizing into a bun and stretching out the kinks in his back. Oh boy, it was definitely time for a shower and a very long nap. Oh, and some new pajama pants.