Plucked the trees out, one by one, root by root, sapling and grand dame alike; she hauled them over streams creating millipede seams in the unearthing, and planted them deep where he grew by shadow and reach, one by one, root by root. Deranged eco-systems, she fixed what she could. After more than a year of work, beguiled by exhaustion, she presents this new forest to him; to a shrug. It’s a bit one-note, isn’t it? She thinks of millipede trails, thousands of little legs getting out of there, but only nods. She could dig a valley for him.