Tila

Tila knows the name of every plant — the real one, not the one we gave them — and the plants know hers. She's the forest's herbalist: she carries seeds hidden in her grey braid and a fresh herb always in hand, because you never know. But her gift isn't prescribing, it's matching. She looks at you with those enormous eyes, really looks, for a long while, and then heads into the woods to find your plant, because each person has one that belongs to them, one that has been waiting for them always: some are calmed by lavender, others kept company by rue, others understood by grandmother's geranium. That's why sometimes an ordinary plant thrives in your window without your doing anything special. It isn't chance or a green thumb. It's that it was yours, and Tila already knew.