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When the Green Girl came, we did not know her face. She stepped into our caverns so far underground, and though we basked in her scent we did not recognize it.
“It is the smell of early spring,” she said, “before the leaves appear.”
We did not know spring, or leaves, or anything beyond our caves—our home of centuries. In her hair she wore a flower, so unlike the fungus we ate day in and day out. I plucked it from her hair and it smelled sweeter than anything I knew.
“Show us,” I said.
The Green Girl smiled.