“’Pass me by, Chahuapapalotlacatl, begetter of my brethren, herald of our seed, and count your servant Butterfly Milkweed worthy to prevail against his foes.’

He kissed his camphor charm again, leaving its cooling balm upon his lips. Every twitch of his pink button nose renewed its scent, washing out the damp of mushrooms, loam, and rhododendron trees. It had just rained; the meadow below would be damp, her flowers drooping, her soil full of purchase for his matted chestnut feet.

‘Grant glory to Painted Mound. Grant glory to the tochcalpolli. We will bring flowers to you, Chahuapapalotlacatl. Grant the increase of our house.'”

Flower Wars is a story I came up with when I was out of ideas and told myself “What, am I just going to tell a story about flowers? Who would care about that?” I hope you care about it, dear reader.