“They’re fire followers,” he said. He had to speak loudly, which was not his nature, and so Olivia moved closer. “That’s a group of plants that needs heat or smoke to tell the seeds to germinate. Sometimes even ash in the soil. They’re rare because of that. People hunt for them after fires.” He pointed to the charred skeleton of a tree. Snarled black arms. Behind it, more trees, all charred. “For decades sometimes, the seeds lie dormant. Tucked away and asleep. Then a fire comes along and wipes everything out and that’s what they need. The challenge. The wake-up call. Like a slap. Everything
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