"You're a real friend", the Lorax says when the Once-ler – by himself, without the guardian having to ask for that – carries him to the riverbank and puts down on the soft grass.
"Just don't get too used to it, Meatloaf,"- the old man snorts, stretching his long arms, and sits hear Lorax. – "Really, spare me and lay off the pancakes, will ya? Look, you already can't see your own paws. 'M not a crane, after all."
Instead of the usual grumbling, the forest spirit only sighs to himself. Okay, at least he's outside his lair today, and that's already something. Usually it was someone of his barbaloot neighbors who helped him out on this day – but now that the animals were too busy resettling back in the valley, the man's help was greatly appreciated.
The Once-ler was seeing in him just the same fat – if not fatter – and lazy spirit he got used to see, but little did he know about the secret that Lorax was keeping. Or rather, preferred to pretend he doesn't know: such a thing was too complicated even for a seasoned inventor like him to understand. He did remember the Lorax telling him something about how the summer didn't go anywhere and how it'll slumber beneath his heart till the warm days, – but in the end chalked everything up to Lorax's great appetite for pancakes, laughed it off and somehow forgot of it. So the forest guardian didn't mention it since then. Neither did he now, knowing it was no use to explain to the stubborn inventor that this isn't pancakes, that he barely eats anything for the last couple of days, and that he was greatly afraid that the grief he'd been in before the Truffula Valley started to revive would still remain and somehow harm the slumbering summer.
"You're a real friend, Beanpole", repeats the Lorax now, stretches out on his side and for some time just lies without a word, soaking up the sunlight, relishing in the fresh wind, green eyes shut. Before long something pleasantly cold brushes against his mustache – turning out to be a cup of iced tea with two ice cubes in it.
"Here, Moustache. Must be really hot in that coat of yours. Still hadn't changed outta the winter one?"
Not even opening his eyes, Lorax gratefully laps up the sweet cold liquid, licking each ice cube till they completely melt. He can hear the Once-ler chuckle, feel a hand take the cup away and then lightly scratch his side – and although the little guardian would love to thank his friend for unexpected care, he's so tired that all he can do is rub his head against the old man's sleeve and... sink… into… sleep.
An invisible, soft nudge into Lorax's side wakes him up. The forest guardian blinks and looks around with still half-lidded eyes… to notice that everything around, everything – except for the unsuspecting Once-ler who still sits under a truffula tree and scribbles something in his notebook, – watches him in anxiety.
Is it already time? Now? At last?
The answer washes over him like a tidal wave – the entire valley's plea for the real summer to come. Somehow, the Lorax manages to sit up, even rise onto one knee and not topple over. His mustache bristles, the silent pleas coming through it like tiny electric charges and echoing through his entire being – coaxing the secret within awake and... …and… oh lord, the paws!..
For a couple seconds, the guardian can only watch his own arms flash with the weak orange glow and then entwine with each other on their own, the entire body following them and curling up into a ball; okay, this happened to him ages ago and this must be okay this time… now only to… not let the summer burst his heart on its way out; it's not harder than the ordinary magic – just know where to direct the glow and it'll obey; direct – don't order – and the last thing the Lorax sees before the blinding light floods his eyes and an immense wave of warmth comes through his heart to finally beam out of clasped hands is the scared, anxious face of his human friend.
The notebook falls out of the Once-ler's hands as right before his eyes, a small sphere of light starts to form in the Lorax's paws, making them open like a blooming flower, growing and changing, turning into a giant Hummingfish-like shape that floats in the air for a moment and dives into the river with a splash, sending waves of warmth through the water, ground and the living beings on it. The old man freezes as one of the waves washes over him, stunned that the guardian's words turned out to be true.
At first, the Lorax can't even recognise that it's him laughing right now, rolling in the grass like a kit, catching his own footpaws – it's in fact been a while since he'd seen them, – until the familiar lanky figure, standing almost knee deep in the river, catches his eye. Barefoot, in his green jacket and with pants rolled up, silver moustache shivering in the breeze and the absolute happiness written all over his face, the Once-ler towers over the shallow waves like a giant dandelion.
A joking "eh, see?" is about to escape the guardian's lips, when the old inventor looks back and, without a word, bends down to shake his orange paw.
"Congrats, Moustache. And thanks for opening my eyes."