Hemel poured a mound of salt onto his palm, tucked the blue cardboard container into the pocket of his duster, and scattered the crystals across the cracked earth. Holding his hands out, he tilted his head back and eyed the buzzards perched on the leafless tree above.

“Thou shalt see that it is barren!” he bellowed.

They lifted their wings and squawked in response.

A lanky female with long, spiky hair and black, lacquered nails appeared at his left. He shifted from one foot to the other as she pressed her finger to the parched ground then examined it. Salt crystals glistened, interspersed with the dun-colored dust.

“No sign of life. Might have to wait another year,” Hamell said grimly.

The woman dusted off her hands, “Big guy like you scared of a few snapdragon seeds?”

“Scared of some tender sprouts, course not. Love ‘em, but they won’t germinate in this Gads- forsaken soil.”

“They will,” she said before disappearing again.

Hemel harrumphed, and the buzzards squawked.

“Blast it!”

Hundreds of green sprouts rose from the cracks and formed fat tiers of buds. Hemel started to snatch the fledgling snapdragons from the earth when a voice floated across the wasteland to him.

“Be sure to feed them, Hem. It’s your turn in the nursery.”

The blooms burst and a thousand tiny voices screamed in hunger as snapping dragon heads, screeching.

“You heard her. Get to it.”

As commanded, the buzzards barfed, raining well-digested carcasses over the babes and splattering Hamel.