The Sentinels honey and sulfur

the flowers, of course such a delicate one as she would speak to flowers. lasher wondered in his heart what she thought of such things, what the spring blossoms whispered to her as they flowed forth from the last coldness of winter's breath. yet he noticed also the wariness of her step, the careful tilt of his little witch's ears -- he was moved to sadness by this, but removed it from his tones, invoking a cheerier clime with his words.

"oh, yes," the druid said softly. "they have whispered to me that he has gone, but only for a time. he will return." a smile lit his features; hopefully deirdre would smile at this small jest.