The forest burned not long after, and your great-great-grandmother died with it. But the seed she hid inside the deer’s belly made it to a faraway pond where the buck stopped to drink water and, well, die. Maybe it was the wounds the fire had dug in the buck’s flesh, maybe it was the daffodil itself growing poisonous inside his stomach. Whatever the reason, the buck lay by the pond, his knees buckled, and drew his last breath among watermint and sweetflag.