Moonspear you can only remember what you want to forget

Olive. It was a simple name, but it suited her, he thought. Not because she was simple - oh no, she seemed like quite a complex creature from the get-go. Knowledgable, adaptable, quick to show kindness. This was the first interaction he'd had with anyone outside of the alpha and the alpha's daughter; Tryphon could only hope that there were more soft, kind, sweet individuals upon the mountain like Olive. He would come to learn though, that nobody was quite like her.

Would you like to see something? She queried, and instantly Tryphon was curious. She seemed so withdrawn, like he often was. Whatever she wished to show him must have been important - so he merely nodded, a smile sliding shyly across his mug, and then coyly said, More flowers? Because he assumed, maybe wrongly so, that this woman's boquet was something she had carefully cultivated; she seemed attuned to the greenery around them both, so to make this assumption seemed right - just as he'd assume a person bathed in salt-scent was of the sea, Olive seemed intimately entwined with the foliage of the cliffs here. Tryphon's question was light but enthusiastic at the same time, as he had always found enjoyment staring at the various clusters of life and color in his travels.