"Aside from mushrooms, not much has managed to thrive," she said. But before he could get downhearted, she held up one finger. "But. Most of these samples were from mostly before we arrived. Which was after the planting season. These seeds had already been sewn in the native soil." She pointed to a small pot of dirt from Cassandra. It was grainy, weak, and sort of gray.

A sharp contrast to the pot of rich, lush soil beside it.

She pointed to that next.

"This is the soil from my orchard. From the roots of my trees from Deerington. By all logic, none of my trees should have survived half of what Deerington threw at us. But they did. And I think it was because of magic. Magic which might be in the soil."