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[AndromacheNY]

Andromache approaches Felegro's domain of moving flora. Her hair falls down the back of her bluegreen cloak in one long dark braid. The long flowing skirt of her green dress flows easily around her -- slit high on both sides, allowing for her long stride. A satchel hangs over her shoulder its shape indicates a certain fullness, but it takes on no distinct shape from whatever is inside it, and doesn't seem particularly heavy.

She stops a few feet from the bush barrier and kneels removing a few items from the satchel and setting it on the ground beside her.

A red-clay bowl. A bottle of marbled glass threaded through with blue green and silver. A round golden-wood box with a tightly fitting lid. A drawstring bag of unbleached linen cloth. A shimmering crystal globe. A silver-plated kylix.

These sacred gifts are set directly on the earth before her. The earth is mother sacred. The altar is in the mind.

 The gifts are for the domain. A sign of respect and gratitude for being granted entrance and the protection and pleasures of another's domain.  Guest-friendship. The bond between the host and guest. How one behaves when one understands Xenia.

One by one Andromache presents her gifts.

Loosening the drawstring, she reaches into the linen pouch and scoops from within, several handfuls of fetile Xenian earth-- rich black delta silt and crystaline shoreline sand, red river clay, and velvety soft brown soil. The soil falls softly into the wide silver vessel. The smell is moist, fecund and dark.

Andromache reaches for the red clay bowl. She dispels the all but invisible energy field from its mouth with a graceful hand gesture and picks out several plump seeds, placing them tenderly in the new bed of offering soil and covers them over gently with more of the same.

Raising the crystal globe above the silver crater in both hands, Andromache closes her eyes. A soft light pulses through her and across her skin and the globe seems to desolidify-- atomize and expand to surround her and her activities. In moments it is gone, but the clean vibrant scents of Xenian air swirl outward. There is an electric energy like just before a summer storm.

Unsealing the glass bottle, Andromache pours its contents into her hand and lets it fall like rain through her fingers onto the soil and seeds. Though the bottle is small, the water from within continues to flow and fall until she rights it again.

Finally, Andromache takes the goldenwood box and removes the tightly fit lid, filling the whole area with a warm wash of radiating sunlight and a feeling of contentment.

She bows her head quietly for a few minute then smiles. She collects the various vessels-- the pouch, the bottle, the bowl, the round box and puts these things back in her satchel. Even as she is packing, the seeds planted in the silver kylix are sprouting and stretching out into the world, sending out shoots and leaves. 

[AndromacheNY]

Andromache stands with her satchel back over her shoulder, dusts her hands off on her cloak, and picks up the silver kylix full of new plants -- now already several inches high. She walks up to the bush barrier with the gift and peacefully waits with patience for her intent of entry to be understood and accepted.

[Dragontologist]

The wall of bushes surrounding Felegro's domain reaches out into Proper the tiniest bit - a single tendril of root, sniffing.  The bush itself appears unmoving.  The instant the root finds the soil, however, it digs in in a frenzy - until it finds the plant that's already in the soil.  There is a long moment of pause, and then the root is gone - and so is the plant.  There is a rustle behind the bush, a sense of frantic movement.  The bush parts the tiniest bit, and a plant-like face peers out.  It's tough to tell what the plant is part of - tree, bush, or maybe just an image.  "Where did this come from?" asks the face, with no pretense of introduction.

[AndromacheNY]

"The seeds are cultivated in my domain of Xenia. These seedlings are a gift of friendship." Andromache smiles.

[Dragontologist]

The face nods once, and disapears.  Movement is still audible behind the bush.  It slowly dies into the distance, and it is quiet.  Unnaturally quiet.

About a minute later, a piece of the bush not far from Andromache shimmers, and a path is visible through the hedge.   

[AndromacheNY]

"Thank you." Andromache smiles, bows her head a moment, and enters through the parting and following the path. She is carefully holding the kylix with the remaining seedlings. "May I plant these here?" she asks.

[Dragontologist]

At first, upon letting her in, the plants had ignored her entirely.  But at the last comment, there is another flurry of activity.  A number of plants surround Andromache interestedly.  A small messenger cactus is again sent out, and returns in short order with a fern-looking plant.  It is holding the original plant that Andromache brought into the domain, with a leaf or two missing.  He hands if off to the cactaur, looks at Andromache, and speaks.  "Plant them as you will."  He settles a bit, preparing to watch a human place a plant in the ground - something never heard of by any of the plants.

[AndromacheNY]

Andromache surveys the space and begins to space the new grown plants far enough apart to allow for root and branch expansion as if they were saplings and not seedlings. She removes her sandles and wriggles her toes in the earth, kneels in the soil and using the simple tools she brought in her satchel and her own bare hands, she tenderly plants each seedling, mixing in each hole, a share of the soil she brought with her. At the base of each planted seedling she generously waters the roots from the bottle she used ritual. Each seedling seems to send out an aura of happy.

[Dragontologist]

The plants don't appear to be interfering or helping, but seem very interested above all else.  A small bit of discected seedling (complete with a clear magnification leaf, powerful enough to see DNA) makes its way from branch to branch around the clearing, many studying the remains intently.  As it passes through, the plants surrounding Andromache murmer appreciatively.

[AndromacheNY]

Andromache says a blessing in Greek, passing over each plant -- (The Goddesses Gaia, Demeter, Hekate, and Hestia are invoked, as are the Gods Apollo and Dionysos). At first it sounds rote, but it becomes more natural. As she finishes, with the last plant, she begins to sing soft and slow like remembering a lullaby but she increases in tone and rhythm; and her voice becomes welcoming and joyful. The seedlings respond -- moving and stretching as if waking from a restorative nap and as the music picks up tempo, twisting and swaying softly as if they were dancing.

Encouraged, Andromache dances with the plants -- tentatively at first -- an ancient dance taught to her by loved ones lost long ago. The memories swell, and it's been a long time since she took these steps-- but the sensation of the earth beneath her bare feet feels right and she proceeds, more at ease. Besides, she is Greek. Dance is in her blood. 

[Dragontologist]

The instant the music starts, every plant backs away from the scene.  Just a step or two, but they're obviously startled. The discetion stops its rotation.   If Andromache attempts to stop, a plant gestures at her to continue.  After a moment of this, a dozen small bell-shaped plants poke their way through the other ones, and watch, closer than any other plant had been.  As Andromache approaches the end of her song, the small plants start joining in with the song (though how they're singing is beyond telling), employing an odd chordal system that works in the prayer like atmosphere.  The other plants, surrounding the scene, do not move or talk, but don't move foward again.  There is no dancing, from start to finish, from any of the Felegrian plants, but the smaller ones, at least, are reacting.

[AndromacheNY]

She smiles at the small plants that join her and extends her song with an additional refrain. Once she completes her song she closely watches the quickly growing plant babies-- well on their way to becoming saplings already. She smiles and bows her head to all the native plants around her. "Thank you." She says with a solemn smile.

[Dragontologist]

The bell-shaped plants giggle lightly at Andromache.  One of them jumps up into the small sapling that is growing, and seems to be communicating something about being on a fun ride - but he does it in a lyrical melodious beat that is difficult to understand.  Some of the older plants frown at the bell-shaped plants. 

[AndromacheNY]

The saplings begin to resemble much younger, smaller versions of the Xenian orange trees planted through out proper. After growing to a certain respectable height they produce a few fat miniature oranges and blossoms (concurrently) and exude the aroma that the Xenian trees are known for. The Xenian ground around them is quite tasty.

Andromache watches the indigenous reactions with repsect but overt interest.

[Dragontologist]

((OOC warning: Graphic plant porn incoming.  Le sigh.))

As blossoms appear, and the scent disceminates across the group of assorted plant life, strange, freaky thing start happening.
The first one to be affected is the little bell-shaped plant in the orange tree itself.  It goes stock still and falls to the ground, twitching.  There is a movement inward to check if it is okay, though a few plants ready what look like the beginnings of defensive abilities - thorns, poisons, etc.  The bell-shaped plants at the bottom of the tree suddenly smell it, and about half of them start running around wildly, making dischordant ringing noises that are impossible to interpret.  The other half stop moving, looking around and twitching a little.  All of them start to release a little bit of pollen. 

The next to be hit are the fast-reacting (but dumb) plants in the front row - maybe 85% of them, though no Tree is actually in this list.  They react differently according to species, but the air slowly starts to fill with pollen.  The next to suffer are the second row.  The second row reacts much in the same way, and the air becomes nearly unbreathable. 

Just as it seems like it will be impossible to see, a minor whirlwind starts, and the pollen goes upwards in a cloud, hovering.  A few scared and exhausted looking trees stand upright, holding the whirlwind in place, but barely.  The scent is gone completely, and there is a slow current of air traveling upwards.  The plants that had reacted so strongly earlier are now suddenly bouncing and excited, poking at the orange trees. 

One of the larger trees approachs the orange trees.  It shoos the smaller ones out of the way, nudges a few of them out of the way, and pokes at the blossom carefully with a tool of some sort.  The first coherent words in quite a while get spoken: "What IS this stuff?"