Once upon a time in the Garden there were two Trees.
So alike were they that you would think them the offspring of a common parent.
The birds of the sky would roost and nest in both, showing neither favour. And the small beasts of the ground did happily root and rustle amongst the fallen leaves.

But the Scientist had looked long and hard at genetic sequences and declared “These two Trees are not of the same species. This one I shall call Arbor vividus, the other shall henceforth be known as A. scientius in recognition of my Great Cleverness”. Now, as this was long, long ago, many centuries before the first peer-reviewed journal emerged from the slime, the Scientist was deeply concerned about how his Great Cleverness could be communicated to the denizens of the Garden. And so he called upon his Research Assistant, a low being called Serpent, to go forth into the Garden with labels for the Trees.

But it should be known that it was Serpent who had worked late every evening, yea even into the seventh day, to map the genomes of these two Trees. And he was mightily displeased that neither should bear his name.

And what Serpent had never admitted to the Scientist was his secret habit of nibbling the botanical samples. This was, he told himself (with growing paranoia), his own research and something “that arrogant bastard” would never steal from him. Long before he had finished his painstaking analysis of the gene sequences, Serpent had realised that there was a difference. One tree was merely nutritious, but the other, well, like you just saw things in a new light man, it was really wicked.

Once upon a time in the Garden there were two Trees.
So alike were they that you would think them the offspring of a common parent.
The birds of the sky would roost and nest in both, showing neither favour. And the small beasts of the ground did happily root and rustle amongst the fallen leaves.

But the Scientist had looked long and hard at genetic sequences and declared “These two Trees are not of the same species. This one I shall call Arbor vividus, the other shall henceforth be known as A. scientius in recognition of my Great Cleverness”. Now, as this was long, long ago, many centuries before the first peer-reviewed journal emerged from the slime, the Scientist was deeply concerned about how his Great Cleverness could be communicated to the denizens of the Garden. And so he called upon his Research Assistant, a low being called Serpent, to go forth into the Garden with labels for the Trees.

But it should be known that it was Serpent who had worked late every evening, yea even into the seventh day, to map the genomes of these two Trees. And he was mightily displeased that neither should bear his name.

And what Serpent had never admitted to the Scientist was his secret habit of nibbling the botanical samples. This was, he told himself (with growing paranoia), his own research and something “that arrogant bastard” would never steal from him. Long before he had finished his painstaking analysis of the gene sequences, Serpent had realised that there was a difference. One tree was merely nutritious, but the other, well, like you just saw things in a new light man, it was really wicked.