There was a beauty in growing things. In birth, in bloom, and in age.
She was an avid student of it. Of plants and animals, yes, but also of people and culture.
The first time she saw him, he was little more than a spectre of hands cupped around a seedling. Later, he sat at the foot of a teacher.
Over time, she saw him better. Not quite human, and never quite the same.
She startled him by introducing herself. His name was Growth. And they became quite good friends.