The forest guardian notices it right away among all those blueprint sketches in the Once-ler's sketchbook – a familiar pattern resembling long thin stalks with many curly sprouts. A large, heart-shaped root these "stalks" stem from only proves his guess right, and the Lorax's eyes widen once again as he observes a drawing of his own heart and veins his magic, the pure life force, flows through.

Bringing the summer back into the world last year took the guardian mere minutes – ridiculously short compared to how long it'd been slumbering in him, and probably not enough for the Once-ler to completely memorize this pattern as it started to glow through the fur of the forest spirit's chest and arms. Yet somehow, the old inventor still managed to repeat it on paper later.

Not bad, not bad at all, the Lorax thinks, absentmindedly running a paw over his thinning belly fur: it's only so long left till he goes through it again.

"What, did I nail it?"

"Oof!" – The sketchbook slips off the fuzzy globe as the startled Lorax looks up and sees none other but his human pal, leaned over a couch arm and staring down at him.

"Sure ya did, Beanpole. I jus'… don't quite get why, I mean… them, out of all things? Why not th' truffula blossoms? Or sunrise over th' valley, or th' Swomee-swans in flight? Dontcha' humans create all those gimmicks of yours th'same way?"

The Once-ler shakes his head, picking the sketchbook back up.

"I wish I could, Moustache."

"C'mon.. . Ugh, a leg up?" – The Lorax looks at his friend with confuse after he lands heavily on the couch. – "What, ain't got no such vessels at all, ya mean? I thought ya got'em along with th'moustache like I did, I mean – really?.."

Instead of an answer, the old man sighs and pulls off his gloves. Still confused, the forest guardian traces a finger along one thin arm with plain bluish veins visible beneath pale skin, and sighs as well - part pitying the human, part worrying about him.

"So that's it... Tell ya what, with that machinery 'n' all... I almost believed ya had'em." - The Lorax shakes his head, the image of the magic getting out of hand being too much for him to bear. - "Good thing ya don't, they'd do no good if ya jus' kept messin' round like that."

"See now?", the Once-ler says – more to his own knees than to the orange spirit. – "Y'know what… Sorry for not believing you back then. Your magic, it's mind-blowing indeed, so I thought I'd keep at least this doodle. As in… one of nature's best inventions, that is. Sorta reminder what to learn from."

"Still, what's with your "wish I could", Beanpole?"

" …Never mind. 'M afraid even with a heart like yours, my stuff wouldn't be… Ripe enough, if that's the right word." – The inventor cackles at himself, pulling the gloves back on and flipping through the sketchbook once again. – "…Yeah. So far only unripe, green, sour ideas. Which got half of the world a major bellyache."

"We'll see", chuckles the Lorax. – "'Sides, two of'em were jus' right. One's definitely pancakes…"

"And the other? What, do you mean the thneed-"

"The town." Furry finger rises with the last word. "'Twas your idea to bring fellow inventors from 'round the world together… and remind'em t'be good neighbors for us. And this is a thing truly done with th' heart."

THE END