"Do you trust me?"
His question startled me. Wasn't the answer obvious? He was my older brother, and suddenly he asked this question. Of course I trusted him with my life! And I was sure that he did the same... or not.
I nodded, hands in pockets, bearing his scrutiny. "Yeah, I do."
He grinned. "That's great."
Somehow, that grin didn't seem to be a good omen. Whether I was right or wrong is to be told in the future, which was now, actually.
"Come," he said. Without hesitation, I followed him.
I followed his long strides unerringly, reaching a small field. The grass was green, darker than glittering emerald, still dewy from dawn. Wildflowers bloomed everywhere, a mass of chaos of colours, some blending into the grass, some hiding in the shadows, some sprouting their bright colours with pride and dignity.
We had been here many times before, so why was he leading me here? As I pondered, he looked at me and, as if he knew my thoughts, assured, "I'll tell you later."
The morning sun hung low in the sky, struggling to rise. The orange of the sun reminded me of artificial-coloured candies. I was about to point it out to him when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. He bent down and reached into the grass. I looked at him curiously. What was he going to do?
Then I saw it.
Science explained that it was comprised of many seeds, so it was actually a fruit, just that there were hairs attached to the seeds that made the illusion of a real flower with feathery petals. I saw it as a surprisingly uniform ball of thin white silk strands, somehow hanging straight, undeterred by gravity. But then he turned it over, and I saw the patch of brown.
This dandelion hadn't been able to disperse its seeds, and it had started to wilt.
"Why did you ask me if I trust you?" I finally asked.
He shrugged. "You'll see."
As I watched, he held the dandelion close to his lips and gently blew. The hairs swayed in his breath, but the seeds did not budge. He glanced over at me and smiled before gently plucking out a seed.
"Wh-" I started, but he shushed me with a shake of his head.
Then, with sudden force, he threw the seed into the green grass field. It caught the wind and sailed away, finally alighting upon a patch of grass.
He did it again and again, until I finally assisted him.
The stem lay in his hand, suddenly so small and vulnerable. All that was left of the fruit was barely a small hump.
"You see? It trusted me to take its seeds far, far away." He gazed dreamily into the field. "And so I did."
"But how is this related?" I blurted. I mentally smacked myself for asking so impolitely.
His grin turned devious. "You'll see," he answered simply. "But do you trust me?"
