There was a knock at the door. The mage stood, smoothing the thick fabric of her gardening robes, and opened it.
The plantlings scattered with a rustling of leaves and the sliding roots, some shedding autumnal foliage in their haste.
On the doorstep was a small rough-cut green gem the dirt not entirely washed from it. An emerald, maybe, or something similar, pulled from the earth by clever roots.
She smiled. ‘Happy birthday to me,’ she said.
This microfiction for Gwenfar’s Garden‘s birthday month!