Firefly Ravine all the way to cassadaga to commune with the dead

@Benedict

There were many things that the druid woman loved about the spring, after winter had moved on and the frost had all thawed. What was there not to love? The air was tepid and growing warmer; the rains came heavy and fast, cleansing the earth; the flora rebounded from the inescapable ice. Olive found that she could stray farther and farther from Elysium and feel relatively safe doing so. The atmosphere was no longer hostile, and the hushed willows were no longer her only sanctuary.

But above all else, the sylph loved being able to return to the waters. She bathed in Elysium’s river even when it ran frigid — but playing in a lake or stream made of sun-warmed tea was a bliss that rivaled even her most lovely of dreams. It was a true shame that the only large body of water within the willows lay at the foot of a waterfall, and the waters churned relentlessly. It meant that she must turn elsewhere to find what she sought, but she needn’t go far.

To the north there lay a river, and a small knuckle of the river became a craggy ravine where the waters slowed and flowed in on itself and stymied. Here, it was possible to find small pools where the strength of the river slowed and the water — you guessed it — could even be mistaken for warm. Without pausing, the woman entered the swirling streams until it almost ran over her withers, enjoying the way it refreshed her limbs and cushioned her belly. She walked in circles until she reached a depth where she could go no further and she stayed there, like a pale, furry crocodile and felt herself become lighter; cleansed. 

She looked up; there was a boulder by the creek’s edge, and atop the boulder, a most beautiful flower. It looked full and a deep purple, the likes of which she had not seen in months. Perhaps if she could take it by the roots, she might be able to transplant it back within the willows, in her garden.  The druid waded forward and place both forelegs on the monolith, larger than anything she could climb. But the flower tempted and teased her, and if she had not been so very pregnant, she might have actually attempted it.

"do ye want t' flower?" came a voice from behind. calling from behind. the man was on the shore, having noticed the woman in passing. his voice had been raised to reach her, though the tune was friendly enough. pale blues would glance to the flower, unknown in origin to him, before glancing back at the pale woman. he did not step forward. he could tell she was carrying children, and therefore would be more prone to snapping at him for no reason. "I could get it fer ye." he'd offer kindly, his own belly holding no precious bundles to watch for. but until the man was given an invitation, he'd remain on the shoreline. respectful of her boundaries.

The druid was that close to giving up and returning to her bath — it was more for pleasure than for any other reason — but Olive gave the flower one more furtive glance, and she tried to get closer, nails skittering on the rock as she attempted to scale the stone. It was still in vain, and Olive wondered if she cared enough to dry her pelage and then attempt it again, but this time from the shore. Deciding no, she pushed her forelegs off of the rock and they returned to the water with a splash. The woman dialed herself back and turned, and that was when she saw the man!

He immediately gave off an air of not-wanting-to-intrude, as if he was only here to help and for no other ulterior reason, so the druid did not ruffle her feathers. Instead, she was grateful: an answer to the prayer she just so recently sung! Perhaps she would get her pretty, purple bloom after all. “Oh, yes, please,” she affirmed excitedly. Then, she quickly amended, just in case he was going to rush forward and play the hero. “— oh, but sir, If you can, try to keep its roots intact,” a flower that was snipped, and then died because of it, was a waste of life and beauty in the truest sense of the word.

“I wish to plant it in my home, where it might bloom forevermore”

she didn't seem startled by him. good. he didn't want to startle her. that wasn't his plan at all. well... he really didn't have a plan. he'd just seen her reaching in the water and was concerned for her children. "call m' Benedict" he'd reply as he proceeded to walk into the water to her side. giving her a friendly nod of his head, his eyes would turn back to the large rock with the flower on top. roots intact... got it. he wouldn't try to harm the flower if he could. his paws were soaked now and he questioned his hold, but he was larger than the other and a bit taller. he readied his muscles and jumped out of the water, scrambling to hold onto the rocky surface.

luck would be on his side, as he felt for hold and pushed himself up. it was all done quickly and he wasn't sure if he could do it again. so he'd make this count. the flower was unknown to him, but it gave off a lovely scent. the earth around it was a bit soft, so he dug as best he could before pulling it out. the stock was in his jaws gently, the roots a bit harassed but usable. he'd focus on getting down now. sliding back into the water after his little jump, he'd reach out for the woman to take the flower from him. couldn't put it in the water after all.

There was not much leeway in time as the valiant night rushed to save the damsel in distress. He had barely introduced himself, and Olive had barely responded with a sweet  “And I am Olive —” before he was off! The man scaled the boulder with ease where she had so resolutely struggled to do so. Her lips of twisted licorice nearly feel open as she watched him; certainly she could have done this for herself had she not been so rotund and top-heavy, like a Russian nesting doll 3 layers deep, but she was not her normal lithe self and resigned to rely to others to provide her with the things she needed. It was quite a sight to see, anyways: a man striving hard to give her what she desired, even something as frivolous as a flower atop an unreachable stone.

Her mouth, which a moment before was hanging open, snipped shut as he grasped for the stem of the bloom. In her mind’s eye, she saw him reached for the flower and rip it apart with the force of the blow; but the dexterity and expertise of his jaws delicately plucked the flora from its shallow surface with the roots, more or less, still attached. The man descended from the rock and presented the flower to her, and the priestess felt unabated joy bloom within her heart and having been given exactly the thing she desired, and in such good time too.  “Oh, Sir, Benedict, you did it!” the pale woman cheered, turning an eye to look upon her garden’s newest addition.  “Have you ever seen something so beautiful?” then she lifted her head in inquiry, seriously desiring an answer, not immediately realizing that it would be relatively impossible for him.