Two short story films, made to be watched by a child and sat through by whoever is watching with them.
They were built as a pair, and the pair is the point. One belongs to the last of the evening — golden stone, oil lamps, a girl who has arrived somewhere she doesn’t understand yet. The other belongs to after dark, when the thing nobody wants near them turns out to be the one planting the forest.
The same country, a few hours apart. So the page they live on keeps the same hours: it starts warm and low, and by the second film the light on it has gone silver.