Scribble: Growth of a kind.

      Sunlight glinting off of metal latticework, the builder paused before the yet unfinished dome, still enshrouded in its steel cocoon. A fierce wind, enraged at the affront to its desolate plain, threatened to choke ancient joints and gears alike with dust from the ground. Yet, beneath a tattered cloak, the builder simply stood, a humble chuckle ringing beneath the din.
      It will take far more than that, I'm afraid, the builder thought, steadying its metal frame with an ornate iron staff. Your purpose is desolation, while mine...
      As dust settled upon the arid ground, the cocoon once more emerged from the tempest's shroud, shining all the brighter. Heavy footfalls sending dust into the air, the builder began walking toward its creation, unblinking eyes focused upon a single emblem on the dome's exposed face.
      There, carved upon a copper plaque, rose a great and powerful tree from an endless desert...