"Skin contact helps," I explained, feeling the cool earth beneath my bare feet. "Plants respond to touch, vibration. Energy."
I knelt beside a flourishing basil plant, its aromatic leaves full and vibrant in the evening air. Sammy joined me, his movements carrying the natural grace of his fox nature.
"Give me your hands," I instructed.
He extended his hands, palm up. I took them and placed them gently around the basil plant's stem, making sure his skin made contact with both the plant and the soil surrounding it.
"Close your eyes," I said. "Feel first. Listening comes later."
Sammy obediently closed his eyes, his expression shifting from curiosity to concentration. I watched his face, recognizing the initial confusion I'd seen in Rooster when I'd first tried to explain this connection.
"What am I supposed to feel?" Sammy asked after a moment, his eyes still closed.
"Pulse," I replied. "Plants have heartbeats. Different rhythm than ours. Slower. Steady."
I placed my own hands beside his, establishing my connection with the plant. The familiar sensation flowed through me—the gentle, persistent life force that existed in all growing things. Not thoughts like humans had, not emotions as we understood them, but patterns. Rhythms. Information coded in ways that had taken me years to interpret.
"I don't feel anything," Sammy admitted, frustration edging his voice.
"Try this," I suggested, moving his hands to a different position. "Don't try so hard. Plants aren't loud like people. They whisper."
I demonstrated by closing my own eyes, letting my shoulders relax as I sank into the familiar connection. "Feel that vibration? That's water moving through stem. Reaching leaves. Sun converted to energy."
Sammy's eyes remained closed, his brow furrowed in concentration. Then, gradually, his expression shifted—surprise flickering across his features. "There's... something. Like a humming?"
I nodded, though he couldn't see it. "Yes. That's it."
I let him feel the sensation for another minute, watching as wonder replaced concentration on his face. Then I decided to show him something more—something I rarely revealed to anyone.
"Watch," I said, withdrawing my hands from the plant.
I held my palm about six inches from the basil plant, focusing my energy and intent. Slowly, deliberately, the plant's stem bent toward my hand, leaves reaching as if drawn by an invisible force. Not touching, not physically manipulated, but responding to my call.
Sammy gasped, his eyes wide. "Holy shit! You're not even touching it!"
I smiled slightly, letting the plant return to its natural position. "Communication goes both ways. I listen. They respond."
"Can I learn to do that?" he asked, excitement replacing his usual caution.
"Maybe," I answered honestly. "Starts with listening. Feeling. Fox shifters have good instincts. Might take time."
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Rooster watching us from a distance, his massive frame outlined against the sunset. Bug stood beside him, their heads bent in conversation. I didn't need to hear them to know they were talking about me—about how different I was now from the feral creature who had once hidden in these same bushes rather than face a single question.
I felt a strange pride in that observation—in being seen without fear filling my chest. In being witnessed teaching rather than hiding.
"Plants saved my life," I told Sammy, the words coming more easily than they would have even a month ago. "When everyone left. When I was alone. They warned me of dangers. Showed me safe paths. Guided me to food and water."
Sammy's expression sobered as he absorbed this glimpse into my past—the fifteen years of solitary survival I rarely discussed. "That's why you're so good at security stuff," he said with sudden understanding. "You've got extra eyes everywhere."
I nodded. "Extra ears too."
Bug had moved away from Rooster now, heading toward the food tables, but Rooster remained—watching me with such naked pride that I could feel it through our bond even at this distance.
Three months ago, his observation would have made me uncomfortable, would have triggered the instinct to disappear.
Now I met his gaze directly, letting my own pride flow back to him through the bond. Look at me, I thought. Look at what I can do now. Look at who I'm becoming because you believed I could.
"So, can we try again?" Sammy asked, drawing my attention back to him. "I want to learn how you do that thing with your hand."
