The librarian walks the forest, her skin space-dark, shot with stars. Sonnets brush her feet as she stops to smooth out a white bloom that contains legends of the Mandare people.
An ancient tree contains every encyclopedia known to sentient beings. She runs her hand along its rough bark. Definitions stick under her fingernails.
The novels beckon, ripe fruit on hanging vines. She picks one, blue-green and spiky. Words burst on her tongue.
When she is finished, she cracks the slimy seedpods and slips the seeds into her pouch.
She wanders on.
Dry leaves rustle like paper at her feet.
Author’s Note: Turns out that you can store data in the DNA of plants. All the knowledge in the world could hypothetically be stored in a boxful of seeds.
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