Amidst the sprawling dunes and sandstorms of dear Skarch, where once a towering forest took root, life now reflects this harshness left in wake of the Old Ones. Where perhaps one might have spied squirrels, bears, raccoons and other such critters, venomous serpents and worms now build their dens beneath the sands.

While outwardly rough, not all of the Skarch bears such venom and brutality. Here too do we find the subject of our tale, a lone little cactus planted among palms and nettles.

 The cactus was not an angry one. Friend to the lizards, the cobras and even the sandworms, he grew happily in the sun and was content to bide his time as cacti did. Though many that passed through were taken aback by his needles, barbed and sharp as they were, never did he mean them any ill will. He simply grew, soaking in the sun and enjoying each breath of desert wind - as cacti do. 

One day as he peeked out across the desert sands, hearing the gentle murmurings of the palms and the tittering of the nettles, he spied a single hooded cobra coming his way. This cobra, he knew, was one bitter and brash, filled with all of the venom their kind was known for. But still he did not bear any enmity, for the desert itself was harsh enough.

"Hello, Cobra!" the kind cactus yelled. 

Cobra said nothing as he continued to approach, trailing an angry line through the sands. Again Cactus rang out and wiggled his needles in greeting, but still Cobra did not reply. Instead, he simply curled up in the shade beside our friendly cactus, baring his fangs and spitting his venom.

"At least you're good for something!" Cobra spat, lashing his tail and flaring his hood.

"Well of course, Cobra," Cactus replied. "We're all good for something!" 

Cobra laughed a cruel laugh, unfurling his tail and setting off across the dunes once more, having taken all that he would of rest beneath Cactus and his shade.

"We cobras are hunted for our venom, and the sandworms hide great treasures under the sands! But you, what could anyone ever want from an ugly cactus!" 

As day turned to night and day again, Cactus pondered this. Surely he was not the most beautiful of the flora, bearing no fruit or even a single leaf to be harvested. Perhaps he truly did not have a use! But, Cactus did not let this bring him down. 

And so the days continued to pass, and Cobra returned to partake of Cactus' shade. Again as he rested, he spat his venom and laughed his cruel laugh, ridiculing Cactus and those of his kind. Again Cactus merely sat and stared out across the dunes, harbouring no resentment towards the mean Cobra.

Before laying trail to the sand once more, Cobra spat one final insult. And as he did so, flaring his hood as cobras do, he caught the eye of a roaming desert hunter. Cactus could do nothing to help angry Cobra, and so he simply sat and watched as cacti do. The desert hunter made quick work of the mean serpent, carrying his bloodied corpse away to his camp.

"How sad," Cactus said to himself. "But still, Cobra did have a use. His venoms will be drained and coat the weapons of the hunters. Maybe I do not have a use, but at least I will not be felled!" 

This thought gave some happiness to Cactus. But then, as the days went ever on...it also brought him great sadness. To be planted in the sands without a use, not worth even felling by the nomads. Such a sad, sad existence! Cactus wept quietly all through the night, careful not to be heard by the palms and the nettles.

As Brother Sun rode on high the next day, Cactus spotted the desert hunter striding across the sands again. He did not see more of Cobra's kind to hunt, nor did he feel the grumbling of the sandworms beneath him. What, he wondered, could the hunter need this time? The hunter grew closer, eyeing Cactus with an appraising glance. 

'You may as well keep walking, you know!' Cactus thought sadly. 'Cobra was right, I am ugly and have not a use to be found!'

But this hunter, he did not agree. He inspected Cactus from one side to the other, even poking at his belly and tickling his needles. Cactus wanted to laugh, but still was he sad knowing that the hunter would just leave him here, so ugly and useless was he. 

The hunter rummaged around in his satchel, producing two small beakers of liquid. Pouring them all over Cactus, he sat and waited. So too did Cactus wait, curious and almost expectant.

 'This is an angry taste, like Cobra! The hunter is trying to poison me!' he thought.

 He shivered and shook, his needles clattering with a queer feeling.

'An ugly cactus with no use, they are just getting rid of me!' 

The strange feeling inside of him brewed and bubbled, and Cactus knew that he was to be no more. As it subsided, he simply sat as cacti do, and waited for death to come.

But come it did not.

Instead, there was a soft clink as something fell upon the sand before him. It was a beautiful flower, red as the desert sunrise and no less magnificent.

"Aha, kouseki!" the hunter rejoiced, taking up the flower and running back across the sands to his camp.

Cactus rejoiced in turn, wiggling his needles proudly and calling out to the whole of the Skarch. He was not useless, and he was not ugly! This beautiful flower was his gift to the hunters, and to the world! 

And so Cactus remained in the Skarch, growing happily and giving off flower after precious kouseki flower to those who would seek them. He simply grew, soaking in the sun and enjoying each breath of desert wind. 

As cacti do.