GIVEN TO THE WRONG ALPHA
He takes one of his own healthy leaves and places it gently on top of the rust-red cutting.
“Share,” he says, very serious. “Like we do in school.”
The healthy leaf shivers, then dissolves, not dying, but becoming sugar that sinks into the rust-red leaves. The cutting shudders. A rust-red leaf falls, then another, replaced almost instantly by a small silver one that is pale, but silver.
Share? the cutting asks through the crown, voice even hoarser than Hinge was at first.
Share, Hinge answers from twelve feet away, deep and clear now, and keep story.
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