Those corn seedlings represented something far more valuable than a few stalks of grain. To Sienna, they represented hope itself.
Although they looked weak and unhealthy, and although the poisonous layer covering the valley had clearly hindered their growth, they were still alive. Their leaves were pale, their stems were thin, and many of them leaned slightly as if struggling beneath an invisible burden, yet they continued reaching upward toward the sunlight.
It was as though they were silently declaring that even a poisoned earth could not completely extinguish life.
Sienna slowly crouched beside one of the seedlings and carefully brushed her fingers across its narrow leaves.
The plant felt fragile.
A faint roughness rubbed against her skin as the leaf bent beneath her touch.
