“G?”

  Ever stopped mid backwards somersault half way down the oak tree.

  “Oh good morning, child.” The old woman looked up at him, her smile lighting up her lined face.

  “What are you doing here?” He asked.

  “Oh you know, visiting friends.” She looked vaguely to the side towards a grouping of tombstones. “But to also check in on you.”

  “Really?" He responded, taken aback. "Thank you.” She held up a hand, just as he was about to change into his human form.

  “Where’s the pot plant?”

  “I left it up in the treehouse, where it’s safe," he replied, looking up towards the dying leaves of the oak tree.

  Gaia slowly walked over to the tree, laying a wrinkled hand against the trunk. “Hello there, young lady,” she murmured. Her eyes moved behind her eyelids for a few seconds. “I see, you’ve put it in the corner. Could you bring it back down? We’re going to take it back to that workplace of yours.”

  Ever fleetingly thought of objecting, considering that Logan might disapprove, but given the choice, he would obey G any day. Moments later, he was cradling the pot with both hands.

  “G,” Ever said hesitantly. “Something happened to the grass, I’m sorry.” Ever was certain that after Spencer had touched the grass last week to be reaped, it had been still there. At some point, it had disappeared. Now, it just looked like a weird pot filled with dirt.

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  “Let’s sit down for a while under Serafina’s shade.” Gaia said, sitting on the ground and crossing her legs. Ever looked up at the oak tree. It almost seemed that she swayed towards them both, branches creaking. “Apology not accepted,” she said in a grave tone. Ever looked from her somber face to the sad, plantless pot. “Apology not accepted... because it isn’t needed.” The cheeky smile returned and Ever released the dread he had been holding. “The fact that the grass is gone shows that this pot of dirt has been touched by a soul that has made peace with what he previously could not accept. Now, it is ready for new life.”

  He placed the pot of dirt in her outstretched hands, then looked toward where she dipped her head. Emptied of bank notes, the tote bag now lay crumpled on one of the roots of the oak tree. Ever reached in and extracted the envelope of seeds that had been at the bottom of the tote bag the whole time. He flipped the slightly crumpled envelope, once more reading the message from the back:

  Every purchase of a pot comes with some seeds.

  Nurture it and you will grow yourself.

  -G.

  They exchanged knowing smiles before Ever opened up the envelope, carefully pouring out the seeds into his cupped, right hand.

  “Make a hole,” G instructed. With two fingers on his other hand, Ever gently moulded out a space about an inch deep. The dirt held its breath, expectant and waiting.

  “Drop the seeds in.” Keeping his eyes trained on the grains of life, he tipped his hand, watching them drop in the hole. They seemed to almost shine against the darkness of the soil.

  “Cover it back up.” Now with a flat palm, he brushed the dirt back over the seeds.

  “Excellent,” she said, clapping her hands together. She stood up and groaned. Ever didn’t know why she kept the human act up; there wasn’t anyone else in the cemetery this early in the morning.

  “Now, let’s take you and this baby to work.”