It all started with a single thought, a moment of doubt in which, for the first time in her life, she questioned what she had been told about the matter.
And it grew from there. She asked more questions. She read books. She talked to others about her doubts -- most dismissed her, or even acted offended that she didn't just believe.
There was plenty of food and plenty of time, so there was no need to push one another aside (is that ever, really, the right thing to do?) nor take giant, hasty mouthfuls and gulp them down.
So they sociably grazed, enjoying the day, the surroundings, and the companionship of one another.
Years ago, it began to grow along the steep hillside overlooking the valley. As a sapling, it weathered the wind that buffeted it, struggled until it reached a size that its roots ran strong and deep.
How it managed to not be decimated by the deer passing through, it wasn't quite sure. But it made it, alone and lone, firm, and strong.