They built the frame in the gated valley: a complex work of wooden lattice, all domes and arches and soaring edifices, a skeleton of a thing with hollow bones that would later carry water and nutrients up into its furthest limbs from the rich soil foundation.
They built the frame, and they waited.
The seeds were carried on the winds, blowing in eastwards over the great desert and down into the valley with the seasonal change. With great precision they directed the life-bearing gusts into the hollow that the frame sprouted from, first showering its north face, then the two sides, and finally channeling vortices of swirling pods across its back, evenly coating the sticky wooden surfaces. The towering twin doors to the valley were then closed, and the water spouts that ringed the clearing where the frame stood were opened, showering the place in a fine mist that rained down for days, soaking everything within.
And, after a time, it bloomed.
Their work complete, they moved on.
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