At the edge of an ancient forest in DragonZone, where enormous roots twisted through the earth and sunlight fell in golden patches between the leaves, lived a little green Dragonling named Thistle.
Thistle loved digging.
She dug beneath mossy logs.
She dug around old tree roots.
She dug holes in places where holes had absolutely no reason to be.
Every morning, Thistle would disappear into the forest with clean green paws.
Every evening, she returned covered in dirt.
Sometimes she found smooth stones.
Sometimes colourful beetle shells.
Once she discovered an old silver button and spent three days wondering which enormous forest creature had lost it.
Thistle kept her favourite discoveries beneath the roots of an ancient oak.
But one morning, she found something she had never seen before.
Thistle was digging beside a fallen tree when—
Clunk!
Her claw struck something hard.
Her eyes widened.
Treasure!
Thistle dug faster.
Dirt flew between her legs.
Leaves sailed over her head.
Finally, she reached into the hole and carefully lifted out...
A small brown lump.
Thistle stared at it.
It wasn't shiny.
It wasn't colourful.
It wasn't even a particularly interesting shape.
She sniffed it.
Nothing.
She licked it.
Definitely nothing.
Thistle frowned.
It might have been the most boring pebble she had ever discovered.
Then a tiny voice came from above.
"That's not a pebble."
Thistle looked up.
A little brown bird sat on a branch.
"It's a seed."
Thistle looked back at the brown lump in her paw.
"This?"
The bird chirped.
"Plant it."
And with that, it fluttered away.
Thistle had never planted anything before.
She chose a sunny patch of earth beside her favourite oak and dug a neat little hole.
Well...
It started as a neat little hole.
Thistle enjoyed digging so much that by the time she remembered the seed, only the tips of her horns were visible above the ground.
She climbed out.
"Too much," she decided.
After filling most of the hole back in, Thistle carefully placed the seed inside and covered it with soil.
Then she sat beside it.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
Thistle leaned closer.
Still nothing.
Perhaps it needed more dirt.
She added another pawful.
Nothing.
Perhaps it needed water.
Thistle fetched some in a curled leaf and poured it over the soil.
Nothing.
She fetched another.
And another.
Soon the little patch had become a puddle.
Thistle stared at it.
The seed was clearly being very difficult.
Maybe it was cold.
So Thistle curled herself around the muddy patch and sat on it.
She waited.
And waited.
Eventually, she fell asleep.
The next morning, Thistle woke with mud on her belly and a yellow flower resting between the little leafy sprouts on her head.
She looked eagerly beneath herself.
Nothing.
Not even the tiniest green shoot.
Thistle's wings drooped.
She had dug the hole.
She had given it dirt.
She had given it water.
She had even kept it warm all night.
What else could a seed possibly want?
For the first time, Thistle wondered if perhaps she wasn't very good at growing things.
She began scratching at the soil, thinking she might dig the seed back up.
Then she stopped.
A tiny earthworm had wriggled onto the surface beside her paw.
Thistle watched it disappear slowly into the soil.
She remembered the bird.
It hadn't said make it grow.
It had simply said:
"Plant it."
So Thistle gently patted the earth flat again.
"All right," she whispered. "I'll wait."
Every morning after that, Thistle visited the little patch.
If the soil was dry, she brought a little water.
If leaves covered it, she moved them aside.
But she stopped digging.
That was particularly difficult.
Instead, Thistle explored the forest.
A great storm had recently passed through one corner of the woods, bringing down branches and tearing plants from the earth. The clearing there looked strangely empty.
Thistle began spending her afternoons helping.
She rolled fallen twigs into little piles where insects could shelter.
She pushed loose soil back around exposed roots.
She carried leaves to cover patches of bare ground.
Other creatures began helping too.
The little brown bird returned.
Beetles moved seeds through the soil.
Earthworms burrowed beneath the ground.
Slowly, green returned to the clearing.
But every evening, Thistle checked her own little patch.
Still nothing.
Until one morning...
Thistle almost walked straight past it.
Then something caught her eye.
Green.
She froze.
From the middle of the dark soil rose a tiny curved shoot.
It was barely taller than her claw.
Thistle's eyes became enormous.
She lowered herself until her nose was almost touching it.
"You did it," she whispered.
Then she thought about it.
"No...
we did it."
The little shoot grew.
Not in a day.
Not even in a week.
But slowly.
Two leaves appeared.
Then four.
Its stem became stronger.
The little brown bird sometimes rested beside it.
Beetles wandered beneath its leaves.
And Thistle continued bringing just enough water.
Eventually, the plant became a young tree.
Its branches spread over the clearing, covered in soft green leaves.
Then, one spring morning, Thistle arrived to discover something extraordinary.
Flowers.
Dozens of little golden flowers covered the branches.
They were the same bright yellow as the flower that so often found its way into the leafy sprouts upon Thistle's head.
Birds nested amongst the branches.
Butterflies danced between the blossoms.
Small creatures rested beneath its shade.
The corner of the forest that had once seemed empty was alive again.
Thistle sat beneath the young tree and looked up through its leaves.
She remembered the boring little brown lump she had almost thrown away.
She remembered waiting beside an empty patch of dirt, wondering why nothing was happening.
And she smiled.
Some wonderful things didn't happen immediately.
Some couldn't be hurried.
They simply needed somewhere safe to begin...
a little water...
a little patience...
and someone who cared enough to keep coming back.
Thistle rested against the tree trunk, her muddy paws stretched happily in front of her.
Above her, a single golden flower drifted from the branches.
It landed gently between the leafy sprouts on her head.
Thistle looked up and giggled.
Perhaps, she thought, the best treasures weren't always the ones you dug out of the ground.
Sometimes they were the ones you put back in.
And from that day onward, Thistle remembered:
The smallest things can grow into something wonderful when someone cares enough to help them.
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