Moonspear you can only remember what you want to forget

When Olive had uttered the question, she hadn’t truly known what the ‘something’ in question was; but she trusted herself and knew she would find it along the way. It was kind of how she lived her life — always unsure what the end result would be. The druid trusted in the gods and she trusted their messages, so what else did she need to know? They would never steer her wrong, if she listened to them. 

if.

So when the masked man brought up the possibility of more flowers, Olive realized that’s exactly what she was meant to show him. “More or less,” she corroborated with a giggle. Her moonsea gaze darted from him, to the ground, to him again — she found she could not look in one place for long — and she wondered if, perhaps, he would think her garden was silly. Not everyone had the same passions as she; in fact very few understood nature for nature’s sake, and not nature for what healing properties it held. A cultured guy like Tryphon would think it too simple, probably.

Between the garden and her own name, why was this such a sudden concern of hers? 

Entirely unbidden, a blush rose into her cheeks. Olive picked up her hips and turned to face the side, motioning with a shoulder for him to follow her. They needed to descend from the elevation a bit, to where the trees grew in thickets and the soil turned loamy. She used to visit it more often, in the spring when the plants roots had not set and they needed much tending to. But now, in the throes of a bright indian summer, the herbs and wildflowers had exploded with life and the woman only needed to visit when she wanted to reap their spoils.

”Are you…” the shrouded druid took a step forward, but instead of continuing on, she turned to look over she shoulder at the man. ”...a mountain wolf?”